The Unwanted Bond
by ineverdothis
Summary: Malfoy saves Hermione from a rape, and in the process, their magics become linked. Malfoy now has the need to protect—and live with!—Hermione...whether she wants him to or not. Disregards epilogue, rated M for rape scene and future content.
1. Chapter 1

**So, a little Dramione ditty I thought up...This chapter has a rape scene, so be warned. The future chapters will explain more about the bonding!**

****XXXXXX** Denotes change in POV.  
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I was definitely regretting going for an interview so late at night. Seven hadn't sounded entirely unreasonable, but it had dragged on so long that it was eight thirty before I could leave. Being that it hadn't gone very well, I considered it a complete waste of time—annoyingly, a waste of an evening. And, I noticed as I exited the building, it was pitch black in the cool, wet January air. But how could I have known that the MPI was owned by none other than Draco Malfoy?

**XXXXXX**

The inestimable witch. I knew she was coming, I saw her résumé, and yet, I was not prepared for the sight of that sanctimonious bushy head walking through my door. There was pleasure in those moments, before she knew it was me, when she stuck out her hand and said brightly,

"Hi, it's nice to m—" before our eyes met. When they did, she seemed to lose her voice for a second, and her hand dropped to her side. She quietly finished, "oh…Malfoy." There was a minute or so where we stood in silence and appraised each other. She was taller, though only slightly—probably about 5'8 to my 6'1. She still carried the expression that she knew everything—three years was clearly not enough to rid her of it.

Finally, I said "Granger. Please sit." I decided to start civilly. She sat, after first removing her jacket and folding it over the back of her seat.

She bit her lip, and then, burst out with "I didn't know you ran this place." She couldn't help herself, apparently.

I smirked, and came back with "I do. Now I'm not sure if you're aware, but _I'm_ supposed to ask the questions, as _I_ am the interviewer." I couldn't help _my_self either.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"Now," I said with a drawl, "why do you want to be a private investigator?"

**XXXXXX**

After the initial shock of seeing Malfoy, I decided to try to be professional, though I knew he would egg me on.

"Well," I began, "I'm interested in Magical Law Enforcement, but the Ministry requires a year of experience in a related field. I know that sounds like I'm actually not particularly interested, but I really am. I thought this would be a really fascinating place to get my start, and that I could learn a lot working here. I love solving problems, and a PI has to do that a lot, obviously, and, I know you must have hired people interested in Law Enforcement before, and I assure you I really _am_ good at it. At Hogwarts, I…"

"**Granger.**"

I was interrupted with another sneer. "I _know_ what you were like at Hogwarts."

I was nervous and had talked too much, but he didn't have to be so rude.

"Right," I said, somewhat coldly. "Likewise." I paused. Should I do it? Did I dare? "Top of my class, you remember."

I did dare. Maybe it was a mistake, but it felt wonderful. I maintained eye contact, and I thought I saw a steely glint of anger, but if I did, he ridded his face of it almost immediately.

"Yes, I do. Speaking of school, how are Potty and Weasel? As irritating as ever, I assume?"

"Yes." My own voice was getting dangerously close to explosion, and I willed myself to be calm. You can't slap a possible employer, it severely lessens your change of being hired. "Doing quite well, we're all still best friends of course. Harry's getting married in a few months."

"Of course, of course, I saw the article. The _Prophet_ certainly is scraping the bottom of the barrel these days, aren't they?" He smirked, and asked, "And you? Will you be carrying a litter of weasels anytime soon?"

Ugh, he was just awful. He had to know we weren't still together, everyone did. "Hardly. He's quite happy with Luna, we're just very good friends." Remaining polite was becoming more and more difficult—not because I was upset about Ron, we had broken up more than a year ago, but because Malfoy was doing everything in his power to get under my skin and make me break my cool exterior first.

The next hour and a half ticked by, as Malfoy and I had a passive aggressive conversation about work, his firm in particular (his father had owned it, then had given it to Malfoy as a present), school, the war, life since the war, me describing my skills, and even demonstrating a few spells for him. By the time I left his office, I was proud that nothing major had gone wrong, but also thoroughly confident that I wasn't about to get the job.

So, as I walked toward the edge of the anti-apparition boundary (most places had never bothered to remove them after Harry defeated Voldemort), I thought of the tea that I would make when I got home, and of the other interviews I had lined up. I suddenly stopped short, realizing that I had forgotten my jacket on the chair in Malfoy's office. I weighed my options. It was my favorite jacket, but I sincerely did not want to see him again. With a sigh of resignation, I turned around to retrieve it. A split second later, I was hit with a painful force from the man that was standing behind me, who I had failed to notice.

**XXXXXX**

I sat thinking over the interview, firewhiskey in hand. I would leave for the Manor soon, but first I had to clear my head of the girl that I had never cared to see again, even if she had (I was loathe to admit it) become marginally more attractive by the age of 20. It was then that the jacket over the back of the desk chair in front of me caught my eye.

"Fuck."

I didn't want to see Granger to give it back, but I didn't want to deal with the reminder of Granger by way of jacket, either. I got up and hurried out my door. I couldn't apparate out; I was too paranoid not to keep a layer of protection around my places of business.

**XXXXXX**

Whatever spell the man hit me with knocked me over. I was very confused, more than frightened, at least at this point. I looked into his face, but I didn't recognize him. I saw that his wand was out and pointed in my direction. I reached for mine, in my pocket, and he laughed, a chilling, cruel laugh.

"Won't do any good, darling. You don't know what I just hit you with, and I don't blame you. It's a spell I invented myself." He seemed so proud of his homemade weapon, and terror began to seep into my body, replacing the confusion. I also realized I felt very weak. I tried to raise myself off the cold, wet ground, but I was too shaken. He crouched next to me. I started screaming, and he only smiled in enjoyment.

"I took your magic from you, honey." I felt sick. Could he be telling the truth? At the look on my face, he continued. "Oh, I didn't take it for myself, I couldn't keep it. I'm not that powerful. It's around us in a little dome, see?" He pointed to the air around us, and sure enough, I could see the shimmer that was produced by my magic, hanging around me. It was bodiless, and could do me absolutely no good. I didn't know who this man was, but I was beginning to understand what he wanted. The powerlessness I felt was overwhelming—for the first time in more than 10 years, I couldn't feel magic in myself at all.

He moved over me, sitting on my hips, immobilizing me completely. I kicked and hit at him, but he only laughed and bound my arms above my head, and my feet together at the ankles. He murmured something about loving fighters, and waves of sickness hit me. This man was going to hurt me, I knew it, and he was going to enjoy it. I wished I were dead already. He used his wand to sever my sweater down the front, and I did my best not to cry out in pain as he (purposefully) left a cut down my stomach. He smiled at my plain white bra, and said,

"You didn't dress up for me? I'm so disappointed; we'll talk about it later." He cut the middle with his wand, again, and leaned over to kiss my mouth before attacking my breasts. He roughly pawed and squeezed at them, stopping to say "a little too small, but I suppose they'll do." He was doing everything in his power to degrade and humiliate me. As he reached toward the buttons on my jeans, I closed my eyes and futilely struggled against my bonds.

**XXXXXX**

I left the office at a trot, hoping to catch Granger with her jacket. I started up the long walk, and heard what sounded like laughter mixed with whimpering. I saw two figures in the ground ahead, and broke into a run. My mind kicked into hyper-drive when I realized what I was seeing. It was a woman (Granger?) being held down by a man, surrounded by an odd sort of shimmer in the air. I didn't know what was causing the shimmer and I wanted to be careful, so I took out my wand, but didn't cast any spell. I shouted, hoping to get the man to stop what I feared he was doing. As I got closer, I felt sicker; I saw that Granger's shirt was ripped open, and it looked like the man had a hand down the front of her jeans. The man heard my shout, and presumably saw my wand in my hand, as I neared them. I was only a few meters away, but he got off her and ran (still fully clothed, to my relief). Certain that Granger wasn't in any more immediate danger, I made to run after him.

But then, I passed through the shimmer.

**XXXXXX**

The man had one hand on my left breast and one down my pants, probing the most intimate part of me. It was vile and disgusting. Just then, I heard a shout, and I felt immensely relieved. Someone was near, the man would leave, and I was safe. Some distant part of my brain realized that it was probably Malfoy, and that he would see me in this state, but most of me didn't care; I was too relieved at being found. The man got off me and ran toward the street, but I was still too weak to move, not to mention that I was still tied. I shivered as I watched Malfoy reach what I knew to be my magic, hanging in the air. As soon as he crossed it, I felt it all surge back into my body, and somehow, along with my power returning, the pain of what had happened hit me all over again. I began to sob loudly as Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

**XXXXXX**

I had every intention of going after the stranger, but as soon as I crossed through the shimmer, and it disappeared, and I stopped short. Rage and fear crashed over me as I looked down at Granger, helpless and crying. Who did this to her? I looked up for a split second, and I saw the man turn and disappear out of the confines of my apparition barrier. I couldn't worry about that now, not when Granger was in this state. I knelt and threw her jacket over her exposed chest, and quickly cut the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. She had a strange look in her eyes: obvious fear, but with some defiance mixed in, as if she didn't want me to see her looking weak.

"Granger." My voice was shaky, but she looked at me. "Granger, can you stand? Are you alright? He's gone." She nodded, and made to get up. She got about halfway before she fainted, presumably from exhaustion. There was an intense pang of something in my chest then, and I caught her and lifted her in my arms. It was easy, I supposed because of a rush of adrenaline. I strode ahead quickly to the street. Once I reached it, I turned on the spot, picturing in my mind's eye, very clearly, the St. Mungo's waiting chamber.

**What did you think? I have the next chapter written already, so if you like it, I'll add it really soon! Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 is up! Hope you enjoy, lovelies. As always, XXXXX means POV Change!**

I arrived at the hospital waiting room, noticing that it was virtually vacant—there was only a wizard who seemed to have sprouted green hair all over his face, and that could clearly wait. I hurriedly carried Granger, still unconscious, to the help witch's desk.

"She was attacked," I told her, before the witch could ask. "She was attacked, and almost…she…he assaulted her." I forced myself to say the last bit. "Then she passed out." My facilities were returning to me, and I had the feeling that things were going to be okay now that I had Granger here.

"Patient's name?"

"Hermione Granger." I saw her eyes widen somewhat, Granger was still a famous name.

"Did her attacker cast any sort of spell on her?" She asked as she stood up. What on earth did that matter, I wondered.

"I don't know, I only…" then I remembered the shimmer. "Yes, he must have."

"Fourth floor," she responded immediately, conjuring a levitating stretcher out of thin air. "If you'll just set her here," she said, pointing at the bobbing, waist-high stretcher.

"I can carry her, I don't mind," I objected, but she shook her head.

"It will be much easier if you place her here," she restated, motioning to the makeshift bed again.

"Fine," I said as I carefully unloaded her, "but I have to come with you."

"That's fine," she said, as she pointed her wand and the stretcher carrying Granger and headed to the fourth floor.

_I have to come with you?_ I asked myself why as I followed her. I'd gotten her here, my obligation was done, why did I need to accompany her? I examined my mental state, and decided that it was just that I needed to make sure she was going to be okay, and make sure that they treated her properly (though, I was useless at healing, so I'm not sure how I'd be of any help there), and, above all, tell the Healers what had actually happened in the first place. That was especially important, and the reason I had to stay, I decided. And, maybe, a part of me wanted to make sure that whatever the shimmer was, it hadn't affected me in any way. So, reassured of my reasons, I followed the witch and Granger to a ward on the fourth floor. Soon after our arrival, Granger had been changed into a gown, transferred into a bed, and a Healer was attending to her as I stood to the side. He muttered several incantations, and Granger glowed purple for a moment, and then returned to normal.

"Well," he finally exclaimed, "there seems to be no permanent damage done, as far as I can tell at the moment." There was such a profound relief in me then that I had to sit down. He continued, "We'll need to keep her here until she's conscious, to ascertain for absolute certain that she's alright. It will likely affect her emotionally, at least for a time…do you know exactly what happened?"

I cleared my throat. "I only saw it for a few seconds…I don't think I saw enough to say for sure." _And even if I had_, I thought, _I couldn't tell you about it._ The doctor eyed me.

"Yes, well…we'll wait until she wakes up. She's simply sleeping, now. Not much can be done until we get her side of the events. You can leave or stay, it's up to you."

"Thanks," I said sincerely, not sure yet which I would choose. Then, I remembered about myself. "Wait, sir?"

"Yes?"

"When I was almost to her, I passed through this strange sort of…disturbance in the air; I think the man had cast it. It sort of…shimmered. Do you know what that would be, or…" I trailed off.

He frowned. "Did it affect your magic at all?"

I took out my want, muttered _Lumos_, and it lit.

"Hmm…well, I haven't heard of anything like that," he said, "but I'll look into it for you. Maybe Miss Granger will know what he cast when she wakes, as well." He turned to leave again.

"One more thing?" I was sorry to disturb him, I knew he probably wanted to leave, but I clearly wasn't one of the people who should be here with Granger. Do you have an owl I can borrow?"

Twenty minutes later, I had finished my letter, and Granger still slept.

_Potter,_

_I know this seems unlikely, but Granger was attacked tonight. She's alright, but I was the one who found her, so I took her to St. Mungo's. I don't know how to contact her parents, so I thought you might do that, as well as contacting anyone who would possibly have an interest in Granger being here. She's on the fourth floor, resting._

_Malfoy_

It wasn't the best letter, I knew, but writing Potter was incredibly bizarre, even under the circumstances. _Especially_ under the circumstances. I tied it to the leg of the hospital owl, let it out the window, and sat in a chair near the foot of Granger's bed. _I can't leave before someone else gets here, it wouldn't be right_, I reasoned.

**XXXXX**

I was roused by a man in lime green robes standing next to a bed that I was lying in. This seemed odd. He was saying something:

"I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy, but I couldn't find any specific spell with the effect you mentioned, and it doesn't seem serious…"

Malfoy. What? Did I miss the interview—no, I went to that, but…and then I remembered. I wish I hadn't remembered. I remembered the man knocking me down, pinning me, tying me, touching me…

I opened my eyes, to stop the memory. The Healer was looking down at me, and he smiled when he saw I had returned to the world of the waking. I also registered that Malfoy was there, near the foot of my bed. I wondered how long he had stayed for.

"Hello Miss Granger," the Healer said gently.

I tried my voice. It was a little hoarse, but I managed a hello back. I sat up in the bed, tired but capable.

"Do you remember what happened?" He asked cautiously, "What can you tell me?"

I took a deep breath, but my voice came out surprisingly firm. "I was walking to the street so I could apparate home. I remembered I forgot my jacket, so I turned around to get it, and the man was behind me. He did this spell, he said he made it up? He said he took my magic and it was outside my body, and it looked like he was telling the truth, the air did this weird thing…" I trailed off, because the Healer was frowning very deeply. I thought for a second that it was fortunate for him that wizards did not play poker, because he would be terrible.

"Alright…did he do anything else?"

"Yes, he tied my hands and feet, so I wouldn't fight him. And he tore my shirt and left a cut—"

"Yes, I saw that, I already mended it, you'll have no scar." He nodded, indicating that I should continue.

"He cut my shirt, and grabbed me, a lot, and kissed me, and," I gulped, and spoke very fast, "put his hand down my pants and was touching me and fingering me." I saw Malfoy turn his head sharply the other way as I finished. I started again, softly, "But, he would have…kept going…if Malfoy hadn't seen him." I quickly wiped away a tear that formed at the edge of my eye.

"Do you know if he returned your magic?" The Healer looked apprehensive that I had left that out.

"Oh, yes. Well, he didn't return them, but I felt them come back. It happened when Malfoy crossed the dome they had formed around me." Malfoy was now looking down at his feet.

"When Mr. Malfoy crossed the dome? Are you sure?"

"Not positive, but that's certainly what it seemed like…Obviously you think that's important?" He wouldn't have said it twice if it weren't.

"I'm not sure; I'll have to ask Madame Derwent. She's our Unusual Magical Phenomenon expert, descended from Dilys Derwent herself. In any event, I examined you myself, Miss Granger, and I see no lasting physical effects—I healed a few bruises and scrapes already." No lasting physical effects. What a phrase. He continued, "Of course, we have a counseling service available, should you want to talk over your ordeal with a trained Cranial Healer."

"I think for now, I'd like to put this behind me." I had never meant anything more.

**XXXXX**

As Granger described her attack in greater detail, my insides felt as if they had turned to hot wax. I was angry and disgusted, and most curiously, wanted to carry her again. She still managed to look strong, sitting up in her bed, even though her voice broke once or twice. I barely registered the concern in the Healer's voice when she told him about the shimmer; I was too busy with my own startling concern for Granger. I hoped Potter would come soon (though it felt strange to think that), because I knew I needed to leave, clear my head, and put this Granger mess behind me.

**XXXXX**

The Healer told me that as it was 11 pm, I was welcome to stay the night, and he would consult Madame Derwent in the morning as a precaution against unforeseen Unusual Magical Phenomenon. I agreed, as I was exhausted, and thanked him as he exited my area of the ward. I wanted to sleep, but I knew I couldn't do it without addressing Malfoy. He stood up as the Healer left, but he stayed at the end of my bed. I looked at the man who I hated, wondering if I would feel differently now. I was enduringly grateful, there was no question about that, but I knew that he was still the same basic Malfoy, only perhaps slightly more inclined since the war to care about the welfare of another human being.

"I owled Potter…I'm sure he'll be here soon." He said this in his normal tone, conversationally, almost.

"Thank you. For everything." I tried my best to express my gratitude with my face; I knew my voice couldn't do it justice.

Just then, I heard the distinct sounds of people I loved coming closer. I was shocked, though, to see just how many, when Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and George came through the door. As the first two rushed to my bed, I looked at them and couldn't help but smile. We had been through so much—I wanted to reassure them that we would get through this as well. Harry and Ron stood on either side of me, each holding one of my hands. The other three stood slightly back, though all three were in front of Malfoy.

"Hermione. How are you?" Harry spoke first, softly, voice laced with worry.

"We just caught the Healer—he told us everything." Ginny interjected helpfully, with tears in her eyes. I loved her so much at that moment—she knew I didn't want to tell it again.

"I'm really okay. I love you all. This was awful, but it could have been so much worse." Luna looked at me with a knowledgeable air… she knew I technically wasn't "really okay," but I had to reassure them that I _would_ be, and I didn't know of a better way to do that. Ron bent down and kissed my forehead, and Harry turned to the forgotten Malfoy. In fact, I thought he would have left; I was surprised he stayed past the arrival of my hated companions.

Harry extended his hand, and Malfoy looked him, then his hand, and then grasped it with his own. "Thanks," said Harry simply.

"It's no problem," Malfoy answered. He paused, and then said "I owed you one."

"Two, actually," Ron piped up, but then took two paces and shook his hand as well.

**XXXXX**

After I shook hands with Potter and Weasley, I fully intended to leave. I had gone above and beyond any normal human obligation, and Granger had expressed her gratitude. I was done. I turned to leave, but nothing happened. Again I tried: I picked up my left foot—no I hadn't, I only thought I had. Something inside me was keeping me rooted to the spot. Some little imp, in the far inside depths of my brain, whispered _How can you leave her like this?_" How _could_ I, really? What if someone tried to hurt her again, what if she got scared, or wanted to talk about it? But she had numerous friends, there were several here already. So I stood, awkwardly outside the group, silently warring with myself, and still unable to move. I heard Granger ask about her parents, and Potter reply that he decided to wait and let Granger decide whether to contact them. I rolled my eyes. Potter still couldn't follow simple instructions—he was sure he had better ideas about everything, and who would argue with the Chosen Golden Boy Who Lived?

The older Weasley turned and saw that I was still standing in the ward. He shot me a puzzled look, and then said "Malfoy, we appreciate it mate, but we got it from here. Hermione's in good hands."

"Yes, I know that. I'm trying to leave." As I looked at them all, Granger gave me a strange look—derisive almost. "Honest…I can move…" I demonstrated this with a step toward the group, "but I just can't leave." To prove this, I attempted to move myself toward the door once more, to no avail.

King Weasel spoke up, "If you were trying to leave, wouldn't you be gone by now?" Ever the nuanced wordsmith, I couldn't help but sneer at him.  
>"Yes, Weasel, you're right, I <em>want<em> to stay here with people that it pains me to be around. I _enjoy_ being at the hospital this bloody late; I have _absolutely_ nothing better to do." He started toward me, but Potter reached out a warning hand and stilled him. I snorted. Ever the obedient sidekick. "I don't know why," I continued, "but I just can't leave."

The five of them all began expressing their confusion or theories, but Granger silenced them all, saying "My magic."

I looked into her eyes. She went on: "You passed through my magic—before you took me here. It must have done something, it must be why you can't leave." Of course she had the answer the fastest. "Maybe some of it is in you, and it wants to stay with me, or…or maybe there's still some sort of dome keeping you here…I haven't read about anything like this, though he…that man said he made up the spell, and if he was telling the truth, I wouldn't have read about it before because it didn't exist before…"

She continued in her exploration of her many theories, and finally came to the conclusion that I would have to stay the night, until that Derwent woman came in the morning. I didn't have time to agree before Weasley asserted,

"If he's staying, we're staying."

"Yes, Ron, you may," Granger said, before I could refuse, or even answer, Weasley.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again. Thanks to all the wonderful people who reviewed, you're what got me to get this chapter done in two days!**

**This chapter starts with Hermione; XXXXX is still POV change! Enjoy!**

Malfoy couldn't leave. It was genuinely bizarre, and long after everyone else had stopped thinking about it, I still was. After a moderate commotion, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and of course Malfoy were settled in conjured armchairs for the night, while George and Luna had decided to leave to avoid overcrowding, with hugs and promises to see me as soon as possible. I wasn't really interested in sleeping, for obvious reasons—despite my brave face, I was fighting not to think about the attack every second. Instead, I thought and worried about all the different possibilities of Malfoy walking through my disembodied magic. I stared at the ceiling, wishing I had a few of my magical theory books to thumb through, and then I looked at the boys in their armchairs. Both had drooping heads, and Ron was snoring. Ginny was curled up gracefully in her armchair, sleeping peacefully. I didn't look at Malfoy, but I thought he was probably still awake, as he kept shifting positions. _I really am quite tired_, I thought, and I drifted away…

**XXXXXX**

I couldn't sleep. I could never sleep with this much on my mind, not to mention that with every passing minute, I longed to move closer to Granger. She had finally gone to sleep—it was past two in the morning, and I was still awake in my armchair, able to watch her at last. I wanted to…I couldn't exactly tell what I wanted to do, but it had to do with making sure no one hurt her ever again.

As I watched her, she began to turn over and become more restless—it wasn't hard to guess what she was dreaming of. I paged the nighttime Healer-in-Training.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, how can I help you?" she asked when she arrived.

"Could you possibly get Miss Granger a Dreamless Sleep potion?"

"Yes, I'll fetch one right away."

"Thank you very much."

It was a very short time later that the Healer-in-Training returned with the potion. I met her at the door, assuring the woman I could give it to Granger myself. I quietly approached her bedside, noticing as I did so that the back of my mind was happier as I drew closer to Granger. How very odd. I didn't want to waste any time, as Granger was still quite restless, so I snaked my arm behind her shoulder and lifted her up slowly. As I was bringing the bottle up to her mouth, her eyes opened suddenly, and without warning or question, she hit me across the jaw.

It surprised the hell out of me—I was actually too shocked to respond, but amazingly, inexplicably, I wasn't angry.

"Malfoy, what—what are you…" She was sputtering—I couldn't tell if she remembered where she was or not.

"Shhhh shh shh," I tried to be comforting. "I'm just going to give you this" I gestured with the potion, "So you can sleep better."

"But…why are you touching me?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but I realized I had no idea. Why had I even volunteered to give it to her? I didn't know what to say, so I took advantage of her still-questioning open mouth and swiftly brought the bottle to her lips and tipped the liquid down her throat. She coughed a little, but enough made its way down her throat that her eyes began to flutter closed, and she went limp against my shoulder. I was sure she wouldn't be happy about it in the morning, but I would deal with her anger when I had to. I forced myself to lay her down and remove my arm from around her shoulders, and resumed my vigil in the armchair, rubbing my tender jaw, all the while wondering what her magic had done to me.

**XXXXXX**

For the second time in a very short period, I came into consciousness in a foggy state of confusion. I wondered how I had gotten through the night and to the morning, because my last clear memories had come from falling into a very restless sleep.

Then, for the second time—admittedly twice more than I'd ever wanted in my life—I opened my eyes to find Malfoy, who was already watching me. The moment I saw him, I recalled our last interaction and scowled. I was torn between my anger at his having force-fed me a sedative and my understanding that he had done it out of concern. A concern, I reminded myself, that he had unwittingly acquired in his initial rescue. I sighed, cursing my own understanding—I much preferred to view Malfoy as a one-dimensional, unsympathetic figure. I then remembered hitting him across the jaw and felt a twinge of guilt. It was an accident, sure, but I had hit him rather hard in my surprised state.

I sat up, and in so doing, noticed that Ginny was awake as well. She looked tired, and for the first time in ears, she looked young to me. Since we had become close, between 4th and 5th year, I had perceived her as more of a friend my own age, less of Ron's kid sister. But I looked at her now and was reminded that she was almost two years younger than I—she was only just 19, and I was very close to 21. Ginny was so fierce, normally, that I forgot her age—until the rare moment, like this one, where she was so overcome with concern and worry that she seemingly regressed before my eyes. She was so young in that moment. Or maybe I had just become much, much older.

I pushed myself to sitting, smiled, and cleared my throat.

"Morning, Gin."

"Morning love," she said, sounding very like Mrs. Weasley, as she nudged the boys on both sides of her to rouse them. Ron needed more prodding than Harry, but soon they were both groggily smiling at me. We sat in silence for a few minutes, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, all unsure of what to say or do. Someone finally had the good sense to press the "call healer" button, to see when exactly I could leave.

Lime green robes swished through the door a minute later, though they belonged to a different healer than the one who had treated me last night. She was carrying a scroll that I assumed held all my information, and was very business-like.

"Hello Miss Granger…I hope you're feeling better this morning?" Better? I suppose I hadn't thought about the attack in a full two minutes. That counted in my estimation, so I nodded. I thought I heard a low noise coming from Malfoy's part of the room…had Malfoy just growled, or was I losing it? "Excellent, excellent," she continued, without a glance at Malfoy. _I must have imagined it._ "Well, then I see that all that remains is for you to see Madame Derwent about some possible Phenomena? That's fine; she can be here in a few minutes. Do you have any further concerns or questions, Miss Granger?

"Um…no, not that I can think of."

"Perfect, I'll have Madame Derwent discharge you when she's finished." She left with the same business-like swishing with which she had entered a minute before.

I turned to Harry, Ron, and Ginny. "Do you mind if Malfoy and I talk to Madame Derwent on our own?"

"Hermione…" Harry started, obviously about to express concern. I couldn't blame him—schoolboy grudges and rivalries did not disappear easily. Sirius and Snape had proved that years ago.

"Harry, honestly—it's fine. I'm fine."

Ron chimed in, "She'll be alright, mate. George and Luna will be here soon, let's just wait for them outside an then we can all take Hermione home."

"Thank you, Ron." I said, and watched as the three of them crossed the ward and exited. This was a strange enough situation, and I didn't care for an audience, and I knew Malfoy would hate one.

We sat in awkward silence for a moment. I cleared my throat, about to ask him never to force-feed me potion again, when came a loud, drawn out,"Helloooo," from the door. A woman entered, at once ethereal yet sing-song. Her dark brown hair was streaked with gray, but pulled tightly back into a long ponytail. She wore deep purple robes, and was very tall, likely almost as tall as Malfoy. She seemed quite unworried, and I felt calmer about the whole situation as a result.

"I understand something unusual happened concerning you," (she pointed to Malfoy), "and your magic." She turned to face me. "Please, explain."

Together, Malfoy and I told the part of the story that involved him walking through the shimmer, and the strange events after, including his inability to leave the hospital ward.

When we finally finished, she smiled and sighed, "Well…that certainly is interesting."

"Interesting?" snorted Malfoy.

"Do you have any explanations, Madame Derwent?" I inquired, before Malfoy could be derisive any further.

"Well, being as the man who attacked you claims to have invented this spell, obviously there cannot be an exact prediction, no. However, there is some precedent with similar occurrences, but only when one of the wizards in question has recently died."

"When…one has died?" The cogs in my mind were working hard, but I couldn't connect the two instances.

"Yes, on rare occasions, the magic of a wizard or witch who has just died passes through a nearby person. It's hard to say exactly, but usually, the still-living wizard will perhaps have feelings toward the deceased they did not have before, or possibly memories or thoughts that likely are not their own." She paused and brought her fingers to her pursed lips, as though struck by a new idea.

"I do have a theory…clearly not perfect, but my theories do tend to be mostly accurate. I do not believe that any part of Miss Granger resides in you, Mr. Malfoy—" He looked immensely relieved at these words. I understood—I wouldn't want any of him in me either. "—because thankfully, Miss Granger is still alive and well. But, being that you passed through her magic, you two are now undeniably joined. It is not possible to pass through the magic of another without a change. Your magics interacted, and hers left a mark on you. You have already expressed an inability to leave Miss Granger's side, which is unsurprising. You may find that you need to remain close to her much of the time."

I tried to swallow the cold lump that had formed in my throat. I knew it wasn't fair to him either, but I could only focus on how much this would change my life, and how quickly.

"It's not just that," Malfoy suddenly said in a hollow voice. "I'm going crazy right now, just worrying about her. I don't know if that man will come back, I don't know who else wants to hurt her…I feel like I constantly need to make sure she isn't hurt or upset…" He trailed off. This certainly came as a shock—I was aware of his inability to leave, and his concern, but I had no idea as to the depth of his internal worry.

Madame Derwent was still in her perpetual state of calm. "Yes, yes, that does not surprise me in the slightest. You may feel great protective urges. The good news is that you will likely be able to learn to control these sensibilities, in time."

"Time?" I asked with alarm.

"Yes, it is rather impossible to say. This situation may be temporary, lasting, or could even permanent. Miss Granger, I know it seems strange, but you must try to do whatever possible to make this easier on young Mr. Malfoy. You simply cannot understand how he feels at present." She gave him a sympathetic stare, which he returned with rather more mirth than I had thought possible.

His voice came again, still low. "So…control?" We both knew what he was asking.

"Yes, my dear, those who have experienced the magic of dead souls have learned control, but I cannot say how, for I have never experienced this particular Phenomenon."

I was in shock, I couldn't think of anything to say or do. Malfoy might be permanently attached to me. I mumbled out a thank you, but Malfoy stood and properly thanked Madame Derwent for her time. She ensured him that she would try to answer any questions we had in the coming weeks, and that we could owl her at any time, day or night, before sweeping out of the room. Malfoy wordlessly handed me some clothes, and drew the curtain around my bed. I knew what he meant—I had to go home, and he had to come with me.

**XXXXXX**

The entire time that strange bat was talking, I had the feeling I knew what she would say, knew the answers to the questions that Granger was asking. I wouldn't be feeling the way I was (the need to be close to her was stronger by the minute) if there wasn't some magical property acting on me. The only thing Derwent said that surprised me was the possibility of permanence. I had hoped she would bring the good news that the effect was very temporary.

"These aren't mine!" Granger's voice from behind the curtain drew me out of my revelry.

"No…Lovegood brought those last night. We thought you might not want to wear the others anymore." _For being Looney, she did have some insights._

"That makes sense…" she said quietly. After a small amount of rustling, she emerged wearing jeans and a green turtleneck. Following the defeat of Voldemort, many in the younger generation had opted to wear muggle clothing, except in the workplace.

I held her jacket open for her, and she seemed to stifle an eye-roll before slipping her arms into it. I made sure she fastened it before I gestured toward the door and placed my hand on the middle of her back.

She flinched.

She actually flinched.

I withdrew my hand from her back like I had burned it.

She turned to look at me, at once fearful yet apologetic. "Sorry…you scared me."

I had scared her. My heart sank into my stomach. How was I going to reconcile my need to protect Granger with her current (understandable) aversion to being touched?

"I didn't mean to. Are you alright?"

"Yes," she responded.

"I won't hurt you."

"I know, I know." She shook her head slightly, as if trying to throw off the moment of fear. She walked for the door, and I followed as closely behind her as I could.

We walked in silence, and when we reached the lobby, her five friends were standing and waiting. They engaged in a brief, communal hug, surrounding her, which I did not care for.

When they released her, the Weasley girl spoke. "Did they figure out why Malfoy can't leave?"

"Or do you have a tall, blonde shadow for a while?" George asked, his eye twinkling. I scowled at him.

"It seems I can't really rid myself of the bond that I apparently acquired from Granger's magic." I hoped they would be able to draw their own conclusions from that statement, but alas, it was too much to hope for.

"So…" Weasley began, his brain working almost visibly.

Granger stepped in. "I'm going home…and Malfoy's coming with me."

**So...thoughts? Questions? Comments? Review with any and all!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello my darlings. Hope you enjoy my latest chapter, but before you do, a few items of business.**

**1. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, I treasure each one.**

**2. When I first started this story, I arbitrarily decided that it was January, but in writing the last chapter and this chapter, I realized it needs to be in August, so now it is. I'm very sorry about the change, I know it's unprofessional.**

**3. This chapter starts with Hermione, and XXXXXX is POV change as always!**

After a few minutes of a barrage of questions in the waiting room, most of them coming from Harry and Ron, I had answered as many could and we all apparated to the end of the lane where my little cottage sat. Malfoy of course had never seen my home, so someone had to take him by side-along, which fell to my lot. The late August sun on my face was revitalizing on my psyche as we walked past the myriad of cottages, belonging to both magical and non-magical owners.

When the seven of us reached my door, I turned to face the group before putting my key in the lock.

"Look, all of you—I really appreciate the concern, the escort, everything. But I know you all have things to do, and I just want to make this a normal day. Not to mention, I'm not sure my house can fit all of us."

It took a bit more convincing, but eventually they all agreed, and after lengthy goodbyes, I finally entered my house with only Malfoy in tow.

**XXXXXX**

Granger, thank Merlin, convinced her large entourage to go about their lives. As I waited for them all to bid their farewells (one would think they were never to see each other again), Luna Lovegood surprised me by bestowing a hug upon me as well. Strange, strange girl. I was fairly certain that no one else had seen, however.

Finally, everyone had apparated away and Granger unlocked her door and showed me inside. My first impression that it was impossibly small—a living room with a sofa and a few chairs (and a full bookshelf of course), a tiny kitchen with a very small table and set of two chairs, and two doors that I assumed were a bedroom and bathroom. I didn't know houses came in such a small size—it was probably only slightly larger than a master suite in the Manor.

Granger cleared her throat from behind me. "Small, I know," she said, "but it's all I can really afford at the moment." I nodded.

"It's…nice." I was awful at being polite. She walked around me and faced me determinedly.

"This is a bit weird, isn't it?" She looked at me like she hoped she hadn't offended.

"Of course it's a bit weird." We had never spent time alone before the interview, to my recollection.

"I'm sorry." She paused. "That you're in this situation."

That made me very angry. "Granger, don't ever apologize for that."

She opened her mouth again, "No, I mean I know it's not my fault, but I just mean that I'm sorry it happe—"

I couldn't let her finish. I grabbed her shoulder. "Granger. Stop. I don't want to hear any of it."

"Please don't tell me what to do, Malfoy." She said coolly.

"I didn't mean to tell, I meant to ask." What the hell was wrong with me? Of course I had meant to tell her. It was as if my new overriding desire to make sure Granger was okay had gained access to the part of my brain that controlled my mouth, and was just telling her what she wanted to hear. The fact remained, however, that hearing her apologize for being assaulted made me see red.

She sized me up for a moment, and then turned on her heel. "I badly need a bath," she said, walking through one of the doors, which indeed proved to lead to a bathroom.

I turned again to face the living room, and wondered what to do while Granger was occupied. Before I could once more became horribly depressed that my level of activity now depended on Granger, I heard a loud thud from the bathroom.

I took the four steps to the bathroom door, alarmed.

"Granger, are you alright?"

"Fine, Malfoy, I only dropped my shampoo."

I felt like an idiot.

"Please, just make yourself at home. Read a book or something, I have plenty." She sounded, unsurprisingly, exasperated.

**XXXXXX**

I listened at the door for Malfoy's steps toward the bookcase, and heard him settle into a seat, presumably with a book in hand. _Finally_, I thought, as an audible sigh escaped me and I ran copious amounts of near-scalding water into my tub. Normally I might take a book into the bath with me, but I had too much to think about at the moment.

As I submerged, my stomach clenched with the heat, but my shoulders relaxed, letting go of more tension than I knew I had. I laid back, ready to let my mind run and analyze for as long as it needed to.

_Malfoy is in my house. Draco Malfoy, sworn enemy of my best friend, is in my house indefinitely, because he physically can't leave me. Yet. Madame Derwent said he would, no, might, be able to control his impulses eventually. That's important…I need, we need, to learn how to do that for him. But, from what I've observed from him, they're still getting stronger. Maybe my magic is taking an extended period of time to reach its full effect on him—but that can't be good, can it? How far will the protection thing go, I wonder? Will he just need to make sure I'm alright all the time, or will he soon decide to go after the man? _I shook my head._ No thinking about the man, Hermione. You're okay, he's not important._ Even as I thought this, I began to scrub myself a little more rigorously than I would otherwise. Still, my mind processed everything. _Okay, so it happened, and it was awful, but you're fine, and you'll move on. Putting it behind you will take a week or two, that's to be expected. Eventually things will be back to normal. Except Malfoy. Merlin, back to Malfoy. How long will he be here? I need to research the Phenomenon, there must be a few accounts of getting his sensibilities more under control. We can work on it, and it's not as if he isn't intelligent. He won't need nearly as much help as Harry or Ron, probably. But, he probably won't be as agreeable or willing, either. But you have to be understanding, Hermione, _I reminded myself. _Madame Derwent said I couldn't conceive of his mindset, and I have to be patient. I wonder if…_

**XXXXXX**

Granger had been in the bath for nearly an hour when I finally heard the water begin to drain. I had long since tired of _The Influence of Wizards on Medieval Raids_ by Pierce Pinckney, and returned again and again to Granger's safety. I made a mental note to ask her about her wards later.

Her voice abruptly ended my musings. "Will you close your eyes please?" She called from the bathroom.

I didn't answer right away…mostly because I had assumed she would be exiting the room fully clothed.

"Malfoy, I didn't bring clothes in here, and I'm sure you can understand that I'm not really keen on you seeing me in a towel at the moment."

"Yeah, hold on," I remarked, taking a few moments to make sure her front window was completely covered by her curtains. I then reoccupied my armchair and firmly shut my eyes. "Alright, all good…" I trailed off. This was likely the most bizarre situation I had ever found myself in—I had seen plenty of women in much less than what Granger was probably mostly covered with—and yet Granger's wishes had once again completely overtaken my own, and all I could think of was whether I was complying enough for her to feel safe.

Apparently I was, for I heard the door click open and listened as Granger padded quickly across the room to her bedroom. When I heard the door close, I opened my eyes.

She re-joined me in the main room a few minutes later, dressed in simple dark jeans and a red tee shirt that admittedly fit her much better than the borrowed clothes of Lovegood's. Her hair, still wet, was unrestrained, though somewhat more tamed than usual by the weight of the residual water.

"Granger, do you have wards up?" I asked briskly, and rather suddenly.

She was caught unawares by my question. "I—what? Oh…not right now. I put one up at night though."

"ONE? You have _a_ ward?" How did she not see how dangerous that was?

"Yes, a very effective alerting charm, it works quite well." She was so matter-of-fact.

I rubbed my brow. "Granger, you can't leave your security so up-in-the-air! Do you think that the world is a perfectly safe place where no one wants to hurt you?"

She breathed heavily and loudly out of her nose. "Of course I don't think that."

I winced internally—of course she didn't—but there was no time to focus on my mistake…Granger didn't have wards.

"Well, I have to put more up, immediately."

She sighed, a strange look of desperation mixed with something very close to pity upon her face. Resigned, she answered, "Fine. I'm going to study."

I got to work around the interior and exterior perimeters of the house, muttering all the while about witches who were daring and cavalier in the matters of personal safety. I had completed my ministrations a quarter of an hour later, and did indeed reenter the living room to find Granger studying.

_We left school ages ago!_

"What are you reading?"

She raised the book without speaking so I could read the title: _Advanced Theories in Magical Law Enforcement: Volume One._

"Why are you studying? Didn't you already pass your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Of course." Her eyes hadn't left the page.

"So why—"

She cut me off. "Because I need to know more! I like learning, and obviously, as you know, I want to work for the Ministry. They have their own exam after you complete the year in a relevant field."

Despite her delivery of this speech, she was still completely engrossed, so I sat down in one of the chairs opposite her perch on the sofa and watched her read.

Every twenty minutes or so, Granger's eyes would glaze and stop flying across the page, and she would stare at once spot for a minute or two. Each time, she would seemingly shake herself loose and her eyes would move and she would begin turning pages again.

Derwent had been right in that I couldn't read her thoughts or feelings exactly, but I certainly felt more in tune to her mood, and I became more uneasy during each glazed pause.

After watching her read for more than an hour, when her eyes glassed again, I asked her.

"What are you thinking about?" I guessed I knew in general, but I wanted to help, and I felt I should know more in order to do so.

Granger answered in a very small, far away voice, "You didn't dress up for me, I'm so disappointed. We'll talk about it later."

She then looked up and gave a small gasp—clearly she had told me something she hadn't meant to.

"Did he say that to you?" I asked, rising from my chair automatically.

"Malfoy, it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have told you…" She trailed off, apparently figuring out from the look on my face that it did very much matter. "Yes, h-he did. When he—after he cut my shirt open." She tried to say this flippantly, as if it was a trivial detail of the past.

But, since she had repeated that maniac's words in that awful, hollow, hurt voice, I was angrier than I had ever been in my life. I couldn't see straight, I couldn't think properly, except that I wanted to kill more than I ever had—including the months when I was a Death Eater (when truly I hadn't wanted to kill at all, only prove that I could). But this anger at Granger's attacker was different—it practically transported me back to that night. I could see in my mind's eye what I imagined the scene to be—that lunatic loomed over a half-naked, tied up Granger, struggling and squirming—not only physically hurting her, but verbally humiliating and berating her. I certainly didn't want to see it, but it was there, unbidden, fueling the fire of my anger. He had abused her. Granger hadn't hurt anyone, hadn't deserved any ill treatment, and she had still experienced such a horror. I was sick and livid as I couldn't stop imagining the capable witch in front of me being rendered helpless by a monster.

**XXXXXX**

I should never have told him. I hadn't even meant to, but his question broke through my memory and I hadn't even thought about it. He was so serious—and he just kept growing progressively redder, and more disheveled. He sat across from me, still looking in my direction, but I don't think he was really seeing me, he was somewhere else entirely.

Swiftly, he stood up and balled his hands into fists, almost knocking the armchair over behind him. I _really_ started to worry at this point.

"Malfoy?" I asked tentatively. I knew that it could be dangerous to break someone out of a trance, and I didn't know what had taken hold of him.

But he either ignored me or hadn't heard me. It occurred to me then that he might be reliving a part of the attack he hadn't actually seen—in fact, he really hadn't seen much, because when he got close to me, the man ran off. Something about his eyes, and his sudden need to take action convinced me that something like that was happening in his head, and I knew that it couldn't be good. His new, Phenomenon-driven instincts didn't seem completely under control under normal circumstances, and I'd just given him a window into the thing that would upset him the most. _Wonderful, Hermione._

Of course, I'd decided this all in a split instant, and my next course of action was deciding that I had to reach him.

"Malfoy!"

I grabbed his arm as he started to turn away. "MALFOY!" I shrieked. I was genuinely frightened. My pull on his arm seemed to yank him back into the reality I was occupying. His eyes finally saw mine, instead of looking past me completely.

"Are you alright?" I searched his face.

He turned his hand so that the arm I was holding was now holding my arm as well, and pulled me into an embrace. As he did this, I began, "What are you..." but the rest got lost and muffled against his chest. He wrapped both arms around me tightly, and I stood in my living room hugging Draco Malfoy. I couldn't tell who exactly the hug was supposed to be comforting, but it honestly did calm my spirits that Malfoy wasn't about to go on a bloody, murderous rampage. And I suppose, being completely honest—I felt a little safer from the memory that had caused this whole incident in the first place.

**XXXXXX**

My imaginings had been broken into by a tug on my arm, and I had realized that at some point I had vacated my chair, apparently intending to take action. I came out of my near-trance to see Granger looking scared—I was fairly certain that she had been trying to get my attention for longer than normal. She seemed like she might have had a small amount of wetness in the corner of her eyes, and without much though (I am Draco Malfoy after all, there was a fleeting idea of my usual, much more collected self in what I was about to do) I pulled her into me and enveloped her with my arms. It soothed me as well as I had meant it to soothe her, and, in all honesty, I felt that I wasn't able to pull her quite close enough.

**(THEY HUGGED ZOMG)  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! Long chapter for you all as a reward for your patient wait. Thanks again to all readers, and thanks ESPECIALLY to my wonderful reviewers!**

**This chapter starts with Malfoy. Enjoy!**

It was unbelievably hard to let go of Granger. I actually felt, for the first time since she was attacked, that I was effectively keeping her safe. My anger slowly dissipated, and the head drained from my head. She seemed patient at first, but after a several minutes she began to squirm, and I deduced that she had moved from comforted to uncomfortable.

I exhaled deeply and released her.

There was a moment or two of intense uncertainty on both sides, and then, the first to take action, Granger looked into my eyes (with a look of concern waltzing with an almost manic curiosity), and asked,

"What was that like?"

I was bemused—of all the things she could have said, she asked a question.

"What?"

"What was that like for you? Describe it—if we can identify more about what my magic's imprint is doing in you, maybe it will be possible to find a formula for control. So…what was that like for you, what was going on inside your head?"

"Granger…" I said in a warning tone, and rubbed my neck. I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell her, and I wasn't sure if she could handle it.

"Malfoy, really. This is important."

She turned around to retrieve a quill and parchment, then sat down on her sofa once again and pulled the coffee table toward her. She then held her quill above the surface of the parchment and looked up at me expectantly.

"What was it like? It was bloody fantastic. Just brilliant." I sank into the chair I had vacated earlier as I delivered my sarcasm-laden answer. I resented being goaded into this.

"Malfoy." My name was a reprimand when it came from her mouth. She was so McGonagall-esque, so stern, that I had to smirk sheepishly.

"Sorry."

"Alright, so, let's break it down."

"Well, there was a lot of rage. Obviously. When you first told me, I was…" I searched my recent memory, "…red."

"Red?" She asked, scratching feverishly with her quill all the while.

"Yeah…I was so angry I was just…red. It was interesting, though, because I imagined that I was actually there, and I heard him say that to you." Here I paused to study Granger's face, but she was determinedly writing—and, I suspected, just as equally determinedly avoiding my gaze. I continued, "So, when I first heard what he said to you, I wanted to kill him, but when I was there watching, in my head anyway, my first choice would still have been to get him away from you."

Granger responded, "That makes sense, the protective instincts override the murderous ones." I watched as the corners of her mouth curved upward ever so slightly. Was Granger actually joking?

"Right." I said tersely. I felt that somehow, Granger had all the power in that moment, and I didn't care for it.

"So, I was stuck watching him with you, until…until you grabbed my arm."

"Right, I noticed that." She was still writing. So scientifically, in fact, that it was as if my homicidal rage had happened ages ago, instead of minutes.

"So, it was physical contact that brought you out of it." She looked at me for confirmation.

_Shit._ I was going to have to explain it to her.

"No."

"Well, it certainly seemed like it was, because—" she started again, showing no intention of ceasing her blathering. So, steeling myself, I decided to do it.

"Granger. Please stop talking for one minute so I can explain this to you."

Her eyes narrowed, but she gestured to indicate that I was to continue.

"It was you touching me. I just…I knew it was you. It was probably the only thing that could've stopped me walking out your door and finding that man and killing him, remembering you were in front of me and…" I trailed off. I couldn't say that she needed me, because I didn't actually know that she did. But I _felt_ like she did.

"But I called you, before that. I said your name. It couldn't have just been me."

_Fine._ Granger could have my last bit of dignity, if she wanted it so badly.

"It was you touching me. It reminded me that you were still here; that you were attacked only last night, still thinking about it, and that you," I swallowed, "_might_ need me. And that you were more or less alright. That's why I hugged you. Not to mention that, frankly, this idiotic Phenomenon first makes you look—I detest this word, but there is no other—_adorable _when you're vulnerable and second makes me want to constantly hold you to make sure you're safe."

_Shit._ I hadn't meant to tell her the adorable part—I didn't want her to think I found her attractive, because normally, I really didn't, but something about the strong, capable Granger looking like she might need me increased her attractiveness ten-fold. I had first noticed that at the hospital in the midst of her restless sleep. Something about the Phenomenon made it so that I was attracted to Granger when she needed me—probably to ensure that I wanted to take care of her even more—as if the regular, crushing need to do so wasn't enough.

_And_ I had told her that I had the need to touch her all the time—that would probably scare her more than anything.

"You can, you know," she said quietly, breaking through my thoughts once again. It felt like I hadn't quite heard her correctly.

"I'm sorry? I can…what?"

"Okay, well, it's not my favorite thing, but I 'must do whatever possible to make this easier on young Mr. Malfoy'," she did a fairly good impression of Derwent's sing-song, "I don't want you to think I can't handle myself, but until we better understand all of this, you can…follow your instincts a bit. If you need to do something to feel better, then, you may. Within reason of course." She looked at me as she usually did—like she had the answers.

I was immensely relieved, but more about the fact that she understood and reacted favorably than that I now had her permission. I hadn't had permission for the hug, but I'd done it. _But maybe, my now-normal level of worry about Granger could be lessened if I take advantage of this permissive attitude._ It certainly could make life easier. I know this is a reiteration, but two days ago, if you'd told me that I'd be sitting with Granger in her living room, with new permission to touch her if necessary, I'd have said you were off your head and gone looking for a straightjacket.

I couldn't help myself.

"Granger?" I arched one eyebrow at her. "Are you aware that you just gave me permission to touch you?" I smirked at her.

She chuckled slightly. "Don't push it Malfoy. We're going to figure this out. You're going to be able to leave soon."

_Not likely._

**XXXXXX**

It was strange, sitting there listening to Malfoy talk about his feelings toward my attacker and me. It concerned me especially that he found me "adorable" when I was vulnerable (it was very inconvenient, as well as the fact that it would undoubtedly make me self-conscious), but something he said hit upon an interesting idea. He said that the Phenomenon _made_ him see me as attractive when he perceived that I needed him, implying that he didn't see me as such at any other time. It might mean that the Phenomenon was more of an animate, active force than a one-time, static happening that still had repercussions, like we had originally thought. It certainly warranted investigation.

I had written much of what Malfoy said down, as well as my observations about this new possibility. I then gave him leave to touch me if he needed to…it wasn't the best thing I could have imagined (and I positively would _not_ be telling Harry and Ron about this conversation anytime soon), but I was only trying to follow Madame Derwent's instructions. He raised an eyebrow and asked me if I was aware of what I had just done—I may have been more annoyed had his quip not been proof that he was much calmer than he was minutes ago.

"Now," I said, "give me a minute to look over what I've written, and then I think we should get right to working on a solution here." I chewed on the inside of my cheek and reread the part about Malfoy's initial reaction. "_Malfoy's immediate response was in sensory form—the extreme anger exhibited by-_"

"Granger…" I was interrupted.

"Yes Malfoy." I didn't look up.

"I still want you to tell me when you think about the attack, if you feel it is necessary. That is, I don't want this instance to have scared you off—I'd much rather you tell me something than let it eat at you unvocalized."

"Thank you Malfoy, that's…" _not likely?_ "very considerate." _He may well want me to,_ I thought, _but I won't have him going off every three minutes._ I was quite sure I would never take him up on his wishes.

My eyes finished scanning the page, and I stood, folded the parchment, and tucked it into my back pocket. Malfoy mirrored me.

"Right. Well, given that we are sort of a first case, my first instinct is to do some experimental research to better get a handle on the entirety of what we're dealing with here. Then, we might try and find others who've been affected by similar Phenomena, and perhaps seek out any other Phenomena experts to discuss our findings."

"Oh, I had so hoped this would come with homework."

"Well," I said, just as dryly, "then this is your lucky day."

"Exactly what did you have in mind by way of experimental research?" He really seemed genuinely interested.

"I think we should just go for a walk."

"A walk?" He suddenly seemed much more wary.

"Yes, I think a bit of fresh air will do us both good." In actuality, I wanted to see how he would react to the way the outside world affected me: preliminary research. But I also wanted him to behave naturally, and not feel as if he were under my microscope. Already I noticed that the prospect of the outside world put him on higher alert.

"Well, yeah, I suppose a walk would be fine.

So, we left my house and began a stroll about my corner of Harrow, the town I call home. I observed very quickly that while Malfoy wasn't touching me, he was walking extremely close to my side, and would look at me often. Still, he seemed alerted, but not uneasy.

"Are these all Muggles?" he asked, gesturing to the houses of some of my neighbors. I rolled my eyes at the note of disdain in his voice. I doubted it was the Muggles themselves, but most likely that the idea of living among them was less than desirable.

"Most of them…there are a few wizarding houses. I'll point them out if you like."

"Please." The polite note in his deep voice was still fairly unusual to me. _Hermione, he's not the same person he was at 13. Or even 17._ I knew, reasonably, that Malfoy could no longer be as bad as he used to, if for no other reason than that he wouldn't have saved me simply because I'm a Mudblood. _I wonder how much contact he still had with his parents._

I pointed to a house ahead on the left, across the street.

"There, that house, with the green door? The Davies live there, they're wizards."

"A family?"

"Yes."

"Do you know them?"

"Yes, they're quite nice. Ralph and Imogen, they're late into their twenties. They have the most darling little boy, Lester, he's six. Ralph's a half-blood, and I think she was Muggleborn—but Lester already gives of gold sparks when he's quite angry…" I stopped smiling as I found myself giving him their blood information when I hadn't planned to. I just expected it to be important to him, and therefore unconsciously gave him the facts he might have wanted.

We walked for a few more minutes in silence, winding through streets lined with modest houses—I quite liked my neighborhood.

"The house just to our right, that's Mister Marsh. He's rather old; I've only talked to him a few times."

"And he lives alone?" Malfoy frowned as he asked this.

"Yes, but I know he can see to himself."

By this time, we were walking back in the direction of my cottage, and I hadn't yet had to do much observing. I had decided our route with no opposition from Malfoy, and while he had stayed quite close to me, he hadn't felt the need to touch me or exhibited any rash behavior.

From across the street, I heard a voice call me.

"Hermione!"

I turned to see a neighbor I knew fairly well standing in her garden and waving to me.

At once, Malfoy's arm snaked across my back and his hand held my waist. It startled me a bit, and felt very odd, but I knew I had given him permission—probably just as well, as it seemed his action was instinctive and involuntary.

"Who is that?" he hissed. I looked across the street at her kind, round face.

"My neighbor, Mrs. Robbins. Muggle," I murmured. I waved to her, and turned to look up at Malfoy. "I'm going over to say hello."

"Well, I'm coming." He turned us both in her direction.

"I figured," I said dryly, as we crossed the street. I felt very self-conscious that I was approaching this woman with a man's arm wrapped around me—it was very unlike me. Of course there was no danger in Mrs. Robbins at all, not a single bone in her body would do me harm, but it would be useless to try and tell Malfoy so.

"Hello Mrs. Robbins!" I answered brightly when we had reached the sidewalk. "How are you?" She wiped her hands on the side of her jeans.

"Oh, fine, dear! Just doing a little work in the garden, it's so nice out this afternoon." Her eyes flitted back and forth between Malfoy and me as we spoke. "And who is this?" Her tone was mischievous. Malfoy's arm was still vice-like around my back and waist, and he used it to pull me into him.

"Erm, this is my…friend, Draco Malfoy." It was awkward, but I couldn't for the life of me think of an accurate world or explanation to describe my new connection to Malfoy, especially one that would make sense to someone non-magical. What certainly didn't make sense to her, I was sure, was how my back could be so tightly pressed against Malfoy and I could still refer to him only as a friend.

She raised her eyebrows. "Friend, hmmm? Well, it's nice to meet you Draco."

Malfoy nodded.

I looked up and to the side again with a discernible scowl on my face. Was he really so unable to even say a word to a Muggle? He looked solemnly back at me.

"Well," I sighed, "we better get moving; it was nice to see you Mrs. Robbins!"

"Yes dear, as always."

I smiled at her as Malfoy and I turned, as a unit, in the direction we had been heading before the interruption. As soon as we were out of earshot, I was ready to let him have it.

"That's enough!" I said, wrenching his arm from around me.

He seemed genuinely startled, which was even more annoying.

"You said I could!" I was having none of that. He knew what I meant.

"Really, Malfoy? You couldn't even say hello to her? Being a Muggle doesn't make her not a person! Haven't you changed at all since you were a Death Eater? Or do you still agree with your old mate Voldemort, and you're just sorry he didn't get to see everything through?" I finished yelling at him, breathing heavily. We had stopped walking and were face to face (still standing very close together) on the sidewalk about 300 meters from my house.

"Trust me Granger, it had no bearing on me that she was a Muggle," he sneered. "And it's of little importance of me what you _believe_, but I've changed quite a bit since then. I didn't speak to her simply because I didn't much care to, and if you must know, I didn't like her talking to you. I know she's not the dangerous sort, but this damn thing is so new that any unfamiliar person around you really worries me."

I stood there, still angry and breathing hard, but conflicted. The Phenomenon was by no means an excuse for Malfoy to be rude or aloof, and I didn't want him to think it was alright. On the other hand, I was under instructions to be understanding and accommodating. I decided that the best course of action was to delay.

"We're finishing this inside." And with that, I took off, striding determinedly and swiftly ahead to my house.

**XXXXXX**

She was impossible. Granger was in the middle of a hissy fit because I hadn't said anything to her prying, insipid neighbor. She turned on her heel and rushed to her house, and I rushed to keep up. She reached her door seconds ahead of me, opened it, and entered her living room. When I was inside, she looked at me angrily, and her chest was still heaving from her tirade, and maybe from how quickly she had just gotten inside.

"I understand I have to be patient about this," she began, fighting to keep her voice low and calm. If she did understand, she had an interesting way of showing it. "But Malfoy, you have to make an effort too! You can't just be rude to everyone that I know, that won't work for me!"

"And I was supposed to say what, that her geraniums were looking lovely? I don't say anything if I don't feel like it, Granger."

"Including 'hello'?" Her hair seemed to rise slightly around her, as if ready for a prolonged fight. That was something I definitely didn't want. Though, it was interesting: I knew she was angry, and that something was upsetting her, but as long as that something was me, I was fine with the fact.

"All she was trying to do was sniff out why I was there, anyway!"

"Are you still in contact with your parents?" She shifted gears so quickly I got whiplash.

"What? I…of course I'm still in contact with my parents. I still live at the Manor." I said this coolly, trying not to betray my confusion at this new line of conversation.

"You still live at the Manor?" Her voice became a pitch higher. "Do your parents still think like they used to?"

"They're more or less the same people, Granger, yes." She huffed. "As a matter of fact, I was hoping we could stop by there for a bit tonight, as I'll have to eventually explain to them what's going on. It's a big house, and they're used to me being gone for a night, but they will start to worry sooner or later. I don't have anything to stay here with, as well…" I trailed off, as the look on Granger's face had suddenly become very, very, stony.

"Malfoy, what happened last time I was at the Manor?" Her voice was icy, but there was hurt in her eyes.

The memory of what had happened the last time Granger was at the Manor was a sock in the gut. She had been held prisoner and tortured by my own family, and I had done nothing to stop it.

_Fuck._

How could I ask her to visit a place where she had been so hurt, less than 24 hours after she was attacked? I moved toward her reflexively, intending to comfort her, but she took two quick steps back.

"Please don't touch me right now." Her voice shook slightly.

I was so frustrated and worried and angry that it rapidly became overwhelming. I clenched my fists so tightly that my fingernails dug painfully into my palms.

"Granger…" I don't know what I intended to say, but I couldn't just say nothing.

"I know, I know, I know, I know." She flapped her hands, and tears filled her eyes. "I'm not doing it right. I'm not making it easier on you. I'm trying, but I just can't be a different person right away!"

"Merlin, Granger, please don't cry. You don't owe me anything. You're the one this happened to, this Phenomenon is nothing compared to that! We don't have to go the Manor; we don't have to talk about this! Just please, please don't cry." If she did, I might just explode on the spot. My heart would certainly burst, at the very least.

**XXXXXX**

It was extremely embarrassing to be breaking down like this. I didn't cry often (alright, more often than Ginny, I'm not a robot), but Malfoy wanting to take me to the Manor in addition to our fight was just too much. I also hated failing, and I felt like I was failing at helping Malfoy. After my first afternoon of experimental research, I was almost in tears, and had just asked him not to touch me, something I had only hours earlier given him permission to do. My emotions and nerves were raw from overuse. Malfoy had just asked me not to cry, so I pressed the heel of one hand to one eye and wiped the other with my sleeve. I had at least been able to stop the tears from falling far.

I looked at him, standing a few feet away—after being so close on the walk, it seemed much further than usual, but I was too mad and frazzled to close the distance.

I took a deep breath and said, "I need some water."

"I'll get it," he said immediately. He took out his wand and conjured a glass, and filled it with _aguamenti._ I had planned on going to the kitchen, but this was indeed faster. He reached it out to me, and I took it.

"Thanks." I could feel the cool water run all the way down to my stomach. I realized it was likely because I hadn't eaten anything since…well, since I had been attacked, actually. Why was I not hungry?

I took a deep breath, ran a hand through my untamed hair, and took a step toward Malfoy.

"I hate this." I said simply. "I hate feeling like this, I hate that you have to suffer, and I hate that we don't know what to do." I said it with the most empathy I could muster, hoping that if we couldn't always get along, we could at least share our misery.

**XXXXXX**

She had calmed down and finished her water. I watched her and noticed that she was looking more and more attractive again. It was so very inconvenient. The Malfoy of two days ago would have brushed her hair away from her face, charmed her with some witty line, and seen where the situation led. At least the Phenomenon-driven me knew that protecting her was of the first priority—and the small amount of common sense I still held on to knew that would be the quickest way to a slap. Lastly, I knew that this feeling would pass, and as soon as Granger was composed, she would go back to being a pain-in-the-arse who would get upset about an improper greeting.

"I hate this. I hate feeling like this, I hate that you have to suffer, and I hate that we don't know what to do." She had crossed half of the gap between us, and it was all I could do not to close the rest, but I knew I would only overwhelm her again. I settled for unclenching my fists, and shoving my hands in my pockets.

"I'm not especially keen on it myself," I replied, but with a gentle smile. "So how was your first experience with experimental research?"

She laughed. She didn't feel completely better, I knew, but it was a start. "How did you know that's what the walk was supposed to be?"

"Granger, please. I wasn't first in our class, but I wasn't last, and I certainly was far above Potter and Weasley. You can't expect to make plans and then fill me in later—I'll catch on." I hoped she would take this dig in the way I had meant it—playfully.

She did. "Noted," she said, with a small smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again. I'm inexcusably late with this chapter, I know. Midterms are a crazy time. Please accept this as my apology, and I will do my best to get the next one up in a week or so. Thanks to all my reviewers, and especially to xxTeardropKisses, for your late review that gave me the strength for the final push to finish the chapter.**

**This chapter begins with Hermione, as usual, and XXXXXX is POV change, as always. Enjoy!**

Malfoy and I spent most of the rest of the afternoon testing how far away from me he could physically get, as well as how uncomfortable it made him. Twice he made it outside of my house, and once he even made it all the way down the walk before he could move no further. Each time, he had to come back to me and reassess that I was alright, but it was worth the inconvenience to see that he was now able to leave the building I was in, even if he couldn't yet leave the premises.

Because he was still going to visit the Manor that night, and because I was still most definitely _not_ going to be visiting the Manor, we formulated a plan. I was going to apparate with Malfoy to the edge of the grounds, where I would then leave him and apparate to my parents' house, since they should be caught up on current events as well. And, as Malfoy had never been to my parents' house, he would be unable to follow me. He didn't love the idea, but I assured him I would be safe at my parents' home, and promised profusely that I would return home quickly.

I had also made us dinner ("You _always_ make your own food?") since neither of us had eaten in ages, but I did more pushing food around than eating. I took a few bites here and there, but I just didn't have an appetite. Malfoy, however, was ravenous, and thankfully didn't seem to notice my eating habits (or lack thereof).

We were ready to depart early in the evening, and we stepped out of my house and onto the porch with a sense of determination.

Malfoy looked at me grimly.

We didn't speak, but looked at each other in such a way that we both knew the other was ready. He took my hand and apparated us to the gate of the Malfoy Manor.

**XXXXXX**

Granger and I had arrived just outside the grounds of the Manor, and she was noticeably more anxious the moment we landed.

"Are you alright?" I didn't release her hand as I looked upon her clouded brow.

"I will be in a moment," she replied with a thin smile.

It hit me fully, then, that Granger was going to leave and I would have no way to find her. The idea hadn't seemed quite as awful when we came up with the plan in her living room.

"Granger, promise you'll return straight to your house when you're finished."

"Yes, Malfoy, I promise. _Again_." She pulled her hand out of mine and took two steps back, and began to turn.

"Granger, wait!" I hadn't meant to blurt this out, but I didn't seen to have control over my outbursts lately.

She stopped mid-turn, clearly frustrated.

"_What_, Malfoy?"

"Don't go. I can hide you—you won't have to see my parents, or the rest of the Manor, even. You could just wait in one of the guest rooms, and I could be sure you're safe…"

"Malfoy. It's my _parents'_ house. I'll be perfectly safe." I knew that she was speaking in a harsh tone for a reason—I was being ridiculous, but I didn't care.

Her tone softened and she moved toward me again.

"I'll be fine, I promise, and I'll be _careful_. I'm apparating right into their garage."

I lifted my hand and grasped her arm between the shoulder and elbow to reassure myself.

"Go," I gestured, "before I change my mind again."

She smiled. "Thirty minutes! Maybe even less." She backed up, turned on the spot, and disappeared.

At once, a fresh and powerful wave of worry and dread crashed over me._ Granger could be anywhere_. The thought circulated wildly around my mind, along with so many other thoughts of scenarios that could befall her, each worse than the last. The sickening worry was so intense that I felt the need to hold my stomach for a few moments. This was the worst I had felt since the hospital.

When I had steadied, I walked purposefully through the gate and toward the house, determined to finish hastily and return to Granger's home. I reached the Manor quickly, opened the grand front door, and a house elf greeted me immediately.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy!" he squeaked. "Can I bring you anything, Master Draco?" He normally would have offered to take my cloak, but as it was warm and August, I was without one.

"No, Bilby, I need to see my parents immediately. Where are they?"

"The Master and Mistress are in the small parlor, Master Draco!"

I immediately made my way to the southeast corner of the first floor. I concentrated on assuming the demeanor I usually used in the Manor:my parents' son—unchanged from the past day and a half. I tried very hard to believe my own ruse, but the constant presence of worry for Granger within me made it impossible. I only hoped it would be more convincing to my parents.

I arrived at the doorway of the small parlor—the one that only the family used—and gazed for a moment at the familiar room, lavishly decorated in deep blue with silver accents and mahogany furnishings.

While I was paused there, my mother looked up from her current occupation; a book, apparently.

"Draco!" she cooed with surprise and delight.

"Mother," I said, and pasted on a smile long enough to kiss her on the cheek. I love my mother, I do; but there was simply no way to smile genuinely. Every fiber of my being longed to be back with Granger—it actually felt like the inside of my body was straining to leave the shell of it. I needed to watch her—there were certainly people who would want to harm her, and what if one caught her off guard again?

"Sir," I nodded at my father. He raised his hand in a lazy, acknowledging wave, but did not look up.

"Draco, I was starting to think you weren't coming home again tonight!" my mother said, trying to coax an explanation from me.

I took a deep breath, and ran my fingers through my hair. I had been worried enough about Granger that I hadn't thought of how very strange and unseemly this business would be to my parents.

"Draco? Are you alright?" She was studying my face.

"Well…" _How do I even begin?_ "Something's happened. Something I don't exactly…know how to explain…" I tried to sound like the matter was inconsequential.

"Well, telling us sometime before we're dead would be much appreciated," my father drawled without looking up from his papers.

Mother smiled and shook her head at me. She wouldn't speak against my father, but she would frequently reassure me in the face of his harsher statements. I appreciated this when I was younger, as it reminded me they both loved me, but now I knew my father was simply acting as I would have.

"Right." I swallowed hard. "Well—do you remember that friend of Potter's, Hermione Granger?"

"The Mudblood?" My father asked, raising his eyebrows.

I gritted my teeth. Apparently insults aimed at Granger rankled my new instincts as well, but it wouldn't do to direct an outburst at Father. I could also tell that with Granger gone, my resolve in that area would not last long.

"Yes, dear, we know who you mean—go on, won't you?" My mother's curiosity seemed to have peaked.

"Granger came for an interview…I guess it was only yesterday evening, at the MPI."

Father laughed. "I hope you didn't hire her!"

I ignored him once again and pressed on, all the more on edge.

"After she left the building, she was attacked–" my mind tried to flash back to that night, but I pushed the memory away. There was no time for a flashback if I was to get back to Granger, "–and I found her and I stopped it. But something strange happened, and we're sort of… bonded."

"Draco, is this a joke?" my father asked, finally looking up from his desk.

"No Father," I sighed, "it isn't a joke."

"Well," my mother began, "bonded in what way?"

"I passed through her disembodied magic." I was now gritting my teeth with anguish. "It made it so I constantly feel that I have to be around her, make sure she's safe. I need to stay at her house for the present time—though I'm hoping to convince her after a while to stay in a room here at the Manor."

"But…she's not here now, is she?" my mother questioned in a gentle, soothing voice, as if I were delusional, or hadn't though the issue through completely. "Couldn't you just stay here? You seem to be away from her at this very moment!"

"Mother, if you could feel how worried I am right now, you'd know that I can only stand this for a couple more minutes, at most. It's torture."

"This isn't arising from some misguided romantic attachment, is it?" my father queried, warning and concern evident in his tone.

"No sir. And I find it most inconvenient as well, but there's not much I can do about it at present." My skin was growing more flushed each minute—I was undeniably disheveled.

"Draco, this is madness! Surely there's some way to break the bond, to get out of this?" He seemed to internally flip through an imaginary list of high-ranking friends.

"Not that anyone knows of, sir." It was odd, surely, for Father to think that he couldn't get out of a situation. "The expert we consulted gave us long-term suggestions, but there isn't a counter-curse or anything like it."

"Draco–" but what my mother was about to say, I couldn't bear to stay and find out. The worry was turning into an increasingly-crippling pain. It was time to leave.

"I'm sorry, Mother, I have to go. We can talk more about this later if you'd like, but I have to leave now. Owl me at Granger's if you need me." With that, I turned on my heel and left my parents sitting in the parlor dumbfounded.

As I walked quickly back towards the front door, I called a house-elf, who appeared beside me with a very loud crack.

"Master Draco? Anything I can I do for you sir?" He asked, running to keep up with my stride.

"I need you to pack essentials—several items of clothing, toiletries, and whatever else I might need to stay in a different home—and send them as quickly as possible to this address," I said hurriedly, and took out a piece of parchment with Granger's information and handed it to him. I was focused on keeping my anxiety at bay as much as possible, lest I vomit or pass out or do something equally embarrassing that would also prevent me from getting to Granger.

"Yes sir, I will do it right away!" he chirped, and disappeared from my side. I soon was outside of the house and striding across the extensive grounds to the place outside the gate where I could apparate away. I was sure it hadn't been more than twenty minutes since Granger and I left her home, but evening had succumbed to dusk and was hurrying toward night. I finally reached that happy place, held my wand, and spun, focusing as much of my faculties as I could on picturing Granger's front walk.

I landed there and silently took down the wards I had put in place earlier, and threw open the door, rushing through it into the still, silent living room.

"Granger?" I asked, to the empty room.

**XXXXXXX**

Leaving the grounds of the Manor was quite the relief. I didn't want to think about what Lucius and Narcissa would say when their heir told them he had to live with a Mudblood. I had apparated (rather precariously) into my parents' garage, and tipped over slightly, falling against their shiny new sedan. I missed cars sometimes, in the wizarding world…they had a nice road-trip possibility that nothing in the wizarding world does—trains run on tracks, apparating only takes seconds, brooms are anything but relaxing, carpets are illegal (at least here in Britain), and riding any sort of animal will never be enjoyable, I'm sure. I'd like a car of my own, when I could afford it.

I opened the door from the garage into the house.

"Mum? Dad?" I called, as I entered the kitchen and flipped on a light. There was always something wonderful for me in entering my childhood home. The familiar smells of a happy past met my nose, bringing with them the usual tiny twinge of homesickness and nostalgia.

"Hermione?" I heard my dad's voice, surprised and pleased, from the sitting room. He ambled into the kitchen wearing his reading glasses.

"Hello sweetheart!" he exclaimed, holding out his arms to hug me. He kissed my temple as we embraced. I adore my father. After a few seconds, he held me out at arm's length.

"Were we expecting you, honey?"

My stomach clenched as I tried not to remember the last person to call me that.

"No, I just dropped by," I smiled. "Is that alright? I asked innocently, knowing perfectly well that it was.

"Of course! Are you hungry?"

"No, thanks, I already ate," I lied. _Tried to anyway._ "Where's mum?"

"Oh, she's lying down, she's not feeling well." My mother had frequent migraines, often requiring that she lie alone in a dark room. How was I supposed to tell my parents what had happened if Mum was ill?

"Do you think she'd want me to brew something?" I asked quickly, thinking on my feet, hoping to perk her spirits for the talk. I was already listing ingredients for a headache-curing potion in my mind.

"No," he said, raising an eyebrow warningly. "She took an asprin." My parents were much more leery of magic—at least, magic performed on them—since I had lifted the memory charm I placed on them two years ago and they realized they'd spent a year of their lives in Australia with different identities. "But she _would_ want you to go in and say hello."

"Alright," I said with a laugh. I walked through the house and climbed the stairs to my parents' bedroom and pushed the door open slowly.

"Mama?" I whispered as I did so.

The figure in the bed turned over. The smiling face of my mother was soon visible.

"Hermione!" She said softly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you and Dad. Are you up for it?" I asked concernedly.

"Yes, I think so," she said, pushing herself up on her elbows.

"We can talk in here, I'll go get Dad."

Minutes later, the three of us were seated under low lighting in my parents' room. My heart thumped impossibly heavily as I searched for the words to begin.

My mother, apparently sensing my struggle, spoke softly and smoothly. "What's this about, dearest?"

I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with air and courage. "It's not the best news, I'm afraid. I–" I faltered one last time, "I was attacked yesterday evening." I saw the color drain from my father's face, and it worried me, but I pressed on. "I'm alright, don't worry, I've been healed by professionals. No bruises. There's just the matter of one small complication. The man who stopped the attack…well, something happened to him in the process. It's not his fault, but he has to stay with me for a while, he…he can't leave. He was bonded to me because he interrupted the attack, and because of the bond, he's being forced to be protective instinctively. So…that's what I came here to tell you. I was attacked, but I'm fine…but I gained a lodger in the process." I finished my somewhat rapid speech with a small smile, but my parents were too in shock to return any form of reassurance. They didn't seem to know where to begin. I had hoped they would see the event as more of a small hiccup than a large issue, which is why I had explained it so simply and quickly.

Finally, my father, looking ashen, spoke, his eyes fixed on the carpet.

"Attacked how?"

"I…he knocked me down, hit me a few times, threw a few spells. It's unclear what he was after." My mother put her arms around my shoulders and held me tightly. I hadn't come with the intention to lie to them—exactly the opposite, as a matter of fact. It sent me into guilty spirals.

_How could I lie to them? They're your parents!_ I answered myself, _maybe now is not the best time to tell your father about a sexual assault._ _If not now, when?_ The other side responded. _They get the idea, they don't need details, _I decided. _It won't make anything better._

"Well, thank God it wasn't worse," my mother breathed, interrupting my inner guilty monologue. "We should meet this man, the one who stopped the attack—we need to thank him! And be sure that it's fine for him to be staying in your house."

"Oh, no," I said quickly. "I don't think Malfoy would want–"

"Malfoy?" my mother asked sharply. "Wasn't that the name of the boy from Hogwarts who always fought with Harry? And he was on Voldemort's side?"

At that moment, for only the second time in my life, I regretted the close relationship I had with my parents. I only saw them for a month or two each summer during my school years, but I usually had managed to fill them in on most of the details of each passing year.

"THAT'S the boy who's living in your house? The evil one?" My father thundered suddenly. My mother winced.

"Daddy, please, Mum's head!" I hissed. "And as to the matter of Malfoy, he's not evil, really, just…disagreeable. And it was magic, what happened to him, he couldn't hurt me if he wanted to. I promise, I'm completely safe. Maybe even more so than usual."

There was an extended silence.

"Are you sure you're _really_ alright?" my mother asked weakly.

I nodded matter-of-factly.

"Well, then, I suppose we'll meet him when we meet him," she said with an air of finality.

My father gaped at her, clearly wanting to continue the line of questioning, but I knew that if my mother declared the matter closed, it was closed. He knew this as well, and shook his head.

"Thank you," I sighed, grateful to be done with the matter, at least for the moment. I kissed both my parents on the cheek. "And thank you for worrying. I know it's because you love me."

"We do, darling," (my stomach clenched again), "and we know you can handle whatever you need to. You're brilliant and capable."

"Thanks mum."

My dad cleared his throat. "Are you sure you don't want anything, sweetheart? We have lots of things you like…" he said, tempting me. I knew I shouldn't stay, that I should get back home and meet Malfoy, but after all that I'd been through in the last 24 hours, I wasn't ready to give up the comforts of home and family just yet. Unfortunately, I still wasn't hungry.

"No thanks, Dad." I said, smiling. "But I will stay for a few minutes, if you're offering."

I cuddled up next to Mum while my dad sat back in his chair and began a lengthy dentist joke.

After a bit of laughing, talking, and storytelling, I hugged them both goodbye and reluctantly left the warmth of my old home for the cool garage, noticing as I did so that it was much darker than when I had arrived. I hoped Malfoy was still at the Manor, or hadn't been waiting for more than a few minutes. I chewed the inside of my cheek apprehensively, spun on the spot, and tore briefly though dark, tight nothingness until I rejoined the physical world by landing, slightly off balance, on my front step.

I opened my door and was immediately met by a tall, manic blond. He pulled me into the house quickly, by the arm, and blasted the door closed with his wand. He looked me up and down several times, keeping his hands on my shoulders, searching for any minor signs I'd been hurt. Upon ascertaining for certain that I was alright, he looked profoundly relieved. My eyes flitted to the clock on the wall, and I realized that without meaning to, I'd let 45 minutes pass since I'd left Malfoy.

"Malfoy, I'm really–" I began. He pulled me into him for yet another make-sure-you're-safe hug. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, and it scared me how rapidly his heart was beating—it couldn't be healthy. It took a minute for his breathing to slow, and his heart rate slowed with it.

"Never again." He said through gritted teeth. He released me and sank onto the sofa, looking as weak and insubstantial as I'd ever seen him. He put both hands over his face, dashing any hopes I'd had of further reading his expression.

"Granger," came the muffled voice, "you have _no idea_ what that was like." Strangely enough, he didn't really seem angry, only shaken and yet relieved. It was as though that relief trumped any other feelings of anger he would have normally had, and very fortunately for me, seemed to be letting me off the hook.

I sat down gently next to him and watched his still-covered face. I was feeling two things: guilty for making him worry, but also the undeniable truth that if I hadn't stayed with my parents for so long, I would not be nearly as relaxed or recuperated. They always imbued me with the sense that I could handle my biggest problems, and I had re-vowed to handle everything head on.

"Again, I'm very, _very_ sorry. I lost track of time. Would you like to _tell_ me what it was like? As a sort of reminder for myself, if I'm ever tempted to do something like that again?" I extended a verbal peace offering with a smile that he could not see.

"First off, I wouldn't let you. Until I have a better handle on this thing, I'm going where you're going, Granger." He said this matter-of-factly, but also giving the indication that he heard the irony of his desire to follow me around, if necessary. "It was like…it was like I was simultaneously going insane and becoming something other than human. I was out of my head, Granger. I had a hundred difference scenarios of what could be happening to you, and each one made me want to leave your house and start tearing passers-by to shreds, just for information—but at the same time, I was too paralyzed with fear that you would come back here and I wouldn't be here to make sure you were alright. Everyone I've ever known became someone who wanted to hurt you in my mind." His voice was so grave. I finally reached up and tugged his hands from his face.

"I'm here, and I'm _fine_! I know you're worried, and I know it's not your fault, but try to remember that very few people actually want to hurt me." I still held his wrists, hoping that the touch was reassuring him.

"Granger, someone tried to rape you. We haven't said the bloody word out loud, but I've thought it a million times."

"Yes."

I didn't have much else to say. Somehow, Malfoy actually speaking the word made his concern, his dread of danger, seem more rational. I had lived almost 21 years, and several of those included some of the most evil wizards in existence trying to snuff out my life and the lives of my friends, but this—a random, senseless act of degrading violence and control—was scarier. And like those instances, I had survived—but not without my scars.

**XXXXXX**

Granger was holding my wrists, and I had just said "rape" aloud for the first time since the attack. And those two happenings, strangely enough, combined to calm me to almost a normal state. First, I'd had to endure minutes of actual physical pain caused by separation from Granger. It was inhuman amounts of worry, and any sense of self I had was lost as I waited and worried. It was all returning now, the sense that this wasn't my normal life, my normal state of being, but something thrust upon me.

There the woman was: the cause of all my anguish, holding my wrists and apologizing. But truly, I was too relieved to be angry with her. I sat straight ahead on the sofa, and she had one leg folded up under her and her body was turned, facing me. Her shin rested against my thigh. The small physical connections were my reassurance, and the thing that was keeping me from holding her in a way that would most certainly make her uncomfortable, no matter how many times she gave permission.

All the emotion, all the feeling—it worried me. I maintain that no man likes to feel too many things at once—we can't handle it. And a tiny, creeping part of my brain worried that it might be stemming from an attraction to Granger forged by the bond. I paused and studied her face. Empirically, she was fairly attractive, but I wasn't attracted to her. She wasn't vulnerable, she was happier than she had been in all the time we'd spent together. How strange, to leave one's parents' house feeling so bolstered and happy. I was reassured that it was merely the bond, and having to spend time away from her, that was at the base of the overwhelming anxiety, worry, relief, and desire to protect and comfort Granger.

We sat, frozen, for almost a minute—it was as though she was giving me time to think, and likely thinking through things herself. Saying "rape" had seemingly taken something out of both of us—a form of pretense, that ridiculous endeavor at normalcy, and given us instead a new kind of understanding. A terrible event had occurred, and instead of striving to move past it quickly, or even just adjust at light speed, we needed to work through it.

"We're doing it wrong, aren't we?" I broke our silence.

"I think so," she said pensively, and released my hands to rest hers in her lap. She seemed to know exactly what I meant.

"I think it's a matter of living with it, and working through it, rather than moving past it." I hoped she understood what I was getting at. The "it" in my sentence referred to both the assault and the resulting Phenomenon.

"It could take weeks to fully understand it. You're absolutely right." She stared in my direction, yet past me. "It seems that we have to live this way for a while, then? We're agreed?"

I laughed. "Doesn't matter much if we agree, does it?"

"No, I suppose not." She smiled, half good-natured, half grim.

I had a fleeting moment of panic—how could my life have gone so horribly wrong so quickly? But a stronger sense of reason followed: it was unfortunate, but if I were given the same circumstance with all this new information, I would have acted no differently than I did yesterday. This all was unfortunate, but I had years ago learned that letting others suffer to save your own skin only resulted in horror.

"I just need _you_ to agree not to make me do that again." About this I was certain and firm.

"I won't," she answered quickly, with great sincerity. "I'm sorry I made you do it this time. It won't happen again until you're ready."

_Merlin, I'm not losing my virginity._

"…Right. So…your parents, how'd they react?" My strange thought had made me change the subject to her parents.

She laughed, and beamed. Her adoration was clear.

"They called you evil."

I balked.

"For saving you?" I was incredulous.

She seemed to find this all very funny. "No, because all they knew about you is what I told them when I was still at school." Her shoulders shook with laughter. "But then I told them that you weren't evil–"

"How very kind of you," I interjected drily.

"–and they were very grateful," she finished, raising her voice to quash my interruption. "They think this bond part's a bit weird, I can tell, but as it is a bit weird…they're quite alright."

"And the news of the…assault? Did they react terribly?"

"Well, obviously they weren't happy. My father, especially. I didn't tell them the worst of it, though, I thought they didn't need to know. They just looked so worried, and Mum already wasn't feeling well, and I figured it wasn't necessary to tell them all of it. So I left out…what he was really aiming for."

I stared at her. It was her business what to tell her parents, not mine, but I couldn't help feeling that with their close relationship, she would _want_ them to know. After all, her friends all knew the extent of everything…but she hadn't had to tell them herself, either. Maybe that was the issue.

"Granger, you don't think they should know the whole of it? Do you want me to tell them for you?"

"No, Malfoy." She said firmly. "It's not about me, it's about them. I love them, and if I thought giving them all the information would aid in my recovery or theirs, I would do it. But I don't believe it will. Plus, I have Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, George, and other assorted Weasleys who probably all know the truth." She paused. "And you. That's plenty of people to…lean on, if need be."

"Your decision, Granger."

"Thank you. What did the Malfoys say?"

"Hmmm…they thought I was joking, and then they asked questions, and then I left."

She furrowed her brow with confusion.

"Well, Granger, I didn't have a lot of time to stand around. I was a tad worried, you see."

"So…they weren't mad about the _me_ part of it?" She looked nervous, yet defiant.

"What does that mean?"

"That I'm muggleborn!" she came back, angrily. Clearly I was supposed to have just _known_ what she meant from "the me part of it." As they had cared about it, however, I was somewhat unsure of what to say.

"Well…they're old, Granger. They're a bit idiotic in that regard. I'm sure they'll owl me later with more questions and I can set them straight on everything."

"You used to be that way," she mumbled.

"Merlin, Granger, what do you want me to say? I'm sorry for every time I ever called you Mudblood, okay? I was a stupid kid who was just doing what I was taught. I didn't give it much thought." It was annoying, having to do this. My pride was slightly bruised: I didn't typically apologize. It registered in my mind, also, that as long as I was certain Granger was safe (and confident in my own abilities to keep her that way), I could feel any normal emotion toward her, including annoyance. I would always worry, but it didn't keep me from being myself. This was an immensely wonderful realization—I would not lose myself. I quite like myself, to lose me would be depressing.

"Thank you, Malfoy. Prejudice is stupid." She couldn't resist one last chance to champion her issues, apparently.

I yawned, and she copied. I realized that as I hadn't slept in the hospital, I'd been awake for a day and a half.

"Let's go to bed," she sighed.

"Ha." I couldn't help myself.

"Oh, shut up," she said, and punched me on the shoulder. "I think just outside the bedroom will do," she exclaimed, standing.

She took out her wand, waved it, and a cot appeared, complete with linens. It looked fairly comfortable, for a twin bed, and long enough to fit even my feet. It stood low off the ground, along the wall just outside of Granger's bedroom door. I magicked the things my house elf had brought through the air and into a pile at the foot of my new bed.

"How luxurious," I said, but with a smile.

**XXXXXX**

There was an awkward moment as Malfoy stood and we looked at each other. I'd never had an overnight houseguest, other than Ginny.

"Well…" I said awkwardly. "I guess…I'll just get ready for bed, and…and you do the same." _Because he couldn't have figured that out, right Hermione?_

Malfoy laughed. "Your numerous experiences with guests are apparent, Granger." He smirked, but was endeavoring to set me at ease. "Do you wish to brush your teeth first, or should I?"

**So, there it was. My longest chapter yet...review it! Please and thank you. And for those of you that feel like they're both taking everything too much in stride...don't worry. They each have a freak out coming. Also lots of protective-y and nighttime-y goodness coming. Love you all!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Yay new chapter! Hope it satisfies all your Dramione cravings...shout out to faithful (and good) reviewers TwinzLover and ariah23.**

**We are starting with Hermione, again. XXXXXX is POV change, of course, and new to this chapter is xxx, which is a passage of time within the same POV.  
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Malfoy and I had awkwardly navigated each other as best we could whilst getting ready for bed, and had awkwardly said goodnight. He had reached for my shoulder automatically, one last reassuring, protective touch before the short separation of the night. He'd also made me promise to keep my door open—I suppose so he could be assured that he would shave valuable milliseconds when rescuing me, should my wardrobe decide to strangle me in the depth of my sleep.

I heard him settle onto his cot as I slid beneath my sheets. I thought how strange it was that I began this day in the hospital—it seemed longer. I began to think of what the next few weeks would be like—we had both decided to take the time to fully understand the Phenomena. Before I could comepletely think it through, however, my eyelids became unusually heavy, and I began to drift off.

_I was walking around a park I had frequented as a child. I passed a swing set, an old couple on a park bench, a family having a picnic. The noonday sunshine dazzled my eyes, making only the bottom half of my normal field of vision perceptible. I walked past several pairs of legs and torsos, unable to recognize any faces on account of the white sunlight, and unable to close my eyes or escape the bright glare. The brick path turned to cobblestone, and I tripped on an uneven stone and fell to the ground. When I stood back up, I found that the sun had set, and I could see again, but I was in a deserted Diagon Alley. I passed Ollivander's and instinctively took out my wand, but it wasn't my real wand, it was Bellatrix Lestrange's. Without intending to, I raised it and blasted away half of an unfamiliar storefront. I dropped the wand, horrified, and began to run as I heard screaming from the wreckage. I ran and quickly found myself lost in Muggle London. I saw Harry at the end of a street and ran to him. "Hermione, did you do it?" he asked me. "No, Harry, I promise, I didn't! It was her wand, Harry, I had no idea–" "No, Hermione, did you do your astronomy homework? I really need to look at it; I didn't have time for mine." "I didn't even know we had homework, Harry!" I called to him, for he had begun to drift backward, slowly, until he disappeared. I ran after him to get more information about the homework, but I ran past the spot where he vanished and found myself on my front porch. I went into the house, and straight to my bedroom—it must have been midnight by now, I knew I needed to go to sleep. When I pushed open the door, there was a tall, faceless shadow of a man, waiting. I reached for my wand, but it was still in Diagon Alley. The man grabbed me. I screamed. He flung me onto my bed and towered over me—he suddenly had a face, a face I had seen only once before. He tried to pin me with his weight, but I rolled off the bed, escaping the only way I could. I hit the ground painfully, and the impact rendered me unable to breathe. I stared up at the man from my frozen position on the floor; he had become shadowy again. He crouched over me. "Granger!" he said. How did he know my name? He said it again, and his voice was breathless and panicky. _

"Granger!"

I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the floor next to my bed, Malfoy crouched over me concernedly.

**XXXXXX**

I had fallen asleep quickly, the cot being not at all uncomfortable. I had been awake for quite some time, and my worry about Granger was at a relatively low level, having convinced her to sleep with her door open.

I was, then, sleeping pretty heavily when a scream pierced the shell of my slumber. It took approximately two seconds to realize the scream came from Granger.

_SHIT._

I threw off my covers, tore out of bed, and reached her doorway in time to see her roll out of bed. She was still sleeping; the scream was a response to an event in a dream. I paused infinitesimally at the door, to make sure there was no actual danger, and then leapt forward, intent on ensuring that Granger was fine, and more importantly, wake her from her nightmare. I also was slightly wary; the last time Granger had awoken to my presence, she hit me across the jaw. She was holding her side, and from the position of her other arm around her head, looked to be bracing herself for a coming attack.

I called her name, unable to keep the worry out of my voice. I resisted the overwhelming urge to touch or shake her before she was awake, and called her name a second time. Her eyes flew open; she was breathing heavily and still holding her side. Our eyes locked, I observed panic and frenzy in hers. I tried to keep my voice calm.

"Granger, are you alright? You fell off your bed, you were dreaming."

"It was a dream?" She looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. She started to slow her breathing.

"That's right, you're safe. Just take a minute to relax." Unable to hold off the urges of the bond any longer, I placed my hand on her forehead. She was clammy. I wanted to check for injuries right away, but I knew it would be better if she were more collected first.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I'll just get back–" she made to get up, but I stopped her using my hand on her forehead and another on her arm.

"Wait a minute. What happened, in the dream?" I wasn't about to let her risk further injury by getting up too hastily.

"Oh…" she brought the fingertips of one hand to her mouth and scrunched her brow, trying to remember. "Lots of things…I was in Collin Park, and then in Diagon Alley with Bellatrix's wand…I think Harry was there too…then I came home and there was a man in here. _The_ man. I think I rolled off the bed to get away."

"You screamed, too." I tried to keep my overwhelming anger under control; anger that this man was still haunting Granger's dreams.

"Did I?" She paused. "Extreme actions taken in dreams sometimes result in real bodily movement, especially when–"

I didn't have time for analysis. "Granger, not right now. I promise, I'll listen to all your explanations later." I tried to be kind, but I was still worried, as Granger was still holding her right side, the side furthest from me. She had fallen almost a meter, from my estimate.

"Are you hurt? Do we need to go back to St. Mungo's?"

"No, no, I think it just knocked the wind out of me."

"Granger, please, be honest," I pleaded.

She sighed. "I can take care of my own injuries, you know. I realize I have to let you make sure I'm fine and everything, but I just want you to know I'm very capable and self-sufficient." She was such a know-it-all.

"Yes, yes, I know. Now _please_, are you hurt anywhere?"

"I think I bruised my side," she admitted resignedly. "But it should be fine."

"You were holding your head when you woke up," I informed her. I would take no chances.

"Oh, yes. Well, I hit my head, didn't I? Of course it hurts a little, but I don't have a concussion or anything. I'm fine." She was getting annoyed, but I was still uneasy, and therefore, she wouldn't be brushing anything off as irrelevant.

"May I please look at it?" I kept my voice patient, hoping she would comply.

"Malfoy, you don't even know anything about healing!"

"Granger, I won't be able to sleep if I don't. Can I just make sure it looks okay?"

"Fine." She turned her head to the side, and I bent closer, gently running my fingers over the area near her temple. I felt a small bump, but any bruise that might have existed was concealed by copious amounts of hair. I sat back on my haunches.

"There's a bump." I informed her.

"Well goodness, I do hope it isn't terminal." Her sarcasm annoyed me—I didn't feel that I was doing anything extreme.

"Are you feeling calmer about your dream?"

"Yes," she retorted, defensively. I understood that she probably wasn't, but that she was too stubborn to show it, especially as I was already insisting on treating her possible injuries with such caution. I considered, at that moment, simply returning to my cot, but I knew I wouldn't be able to. The bond was keeping me there, and though she wasn't in immediate danger, I wouldn't be able to move without making completely certain that Granger was alright.

"I'm sorry, but may I please see your side?"

"No!" I understood all facets of her hesitancy: she was sensitive to my seeing a place that was usually covered, she was angry about her dream, she was angry about my reaction to her dream, and she was angry that she wasn't being allowed to look after herself. They were all valid, and though I recognized them, there was nothing I could do about the need to tend to her myself.

"Granger, it's the Phenomenon, it isn't me. If you get up and try to go to bed, I'll only be able to stand here until you let me examine it."

She sighed so heavily it was almost a growl, but she lifted her shirt to show her right side, and then used both her hands to cover the parts of her stomach that I didn't need to look at. Stifling, an eye-roll, I rested on my knees and leaned over her.

There was indeed a light purple splotch covering the lower part of her ribcage. I extended my hand to assess the injury physically.

She reached up and stopped my arm in midair, clasping her hand around my forearm. I noticed that her face betrayed the tiniest wince of pain as she did so.

"_What_ are you doing?" she asked incredulously.

"I was just–" I began.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm drawing the line." In her mind, the matter was finished.

"Fine," I sighed, "do you think you may have cracked a rib?"

"Probably not."

"I think if it gets worse tomorrow, we should go back to St. Mungo's."

"Of course it'll be worse tomorrow, bruises get worse over days, not minutes." She yawned, and immediately I became concerned with getting her back into bed and letting her sleep.

"Well, just keep me informed then, I suppose," I said worriedly.

"I will. Are you satiated? May I go back to sleep?" Something told me she wasn't really seeking my permission as much as calling attention to the fact that she didn't need to ask my permission.

Instead of answering, I scooped her into my arms, stood, and placed her carefully in her bed.

"Now really!" She exclaimed through gritted teeth. I couldn't tell if they were gritted with pain or frustration. "I could have gotten into my own bed!"

"Now you don't have to," I smirked happily. The fact that Granger had shown signs of pain had made me quickly decide to lift her to bed, and despite her anger, I was glad I had done it. Truthfully, I enjoyed it—the reassurance of her safety I felt when she was that close to me couldn't be paralleled. She was now sitting up in bed as I stood next to her.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Granger, but didn't we agree earlier this evening to be patient with the bond, and by extension, each other?"

She turned red with what I assume was a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"You don't have to answer, because I know you were scared, and I understand why you're upset, but I also understand that you can take care of yourself. It just happens to be that a major part of these exciting new instincts involve doing just that."

"…I know," she replied, looking at a spot on the wall past my head.

"Good. See you in the morning," I said, and strode out of the room.

**XXXXXX**

After Malfoy left, I sat in bed, arms crossed, both fuming and confused. I was angry, rightfully so, I believe, because I had woken up scared and cornered, and I hadn't been allowed any control over my circumstance. I was threatened by my dream, and then again my loss of control. I was confused because suddenly, Malfoy had become the more rational one, and I, completely unable to be rational. I knew Malfoy was right: that I was refusing to allow him to do what he felt he needed to do only hours after we agreed to work to bring all aspects of the bond into the light of our full comprehension; even so, I didn't want to. It was as if the night (and my dream) completely reversed our roles. I decided, sitting in bed letting my anger abate, to be the most rational I had ever been in the morning, but not to apologize.

I was still reeling from the invasion of my personal space that had culminated in Malfoy actually lifting me into bed. It occurred to me for the first time that he must have lifted me in some way after the attack, in order to apparate me to St. Mungo's. Tonight, he had lifted me with a small amount of my midsection visible, which had been uncomfortable enough for me. That night, I had only been covered by my jacket from the waist up—he would have supported me with one arm under my bare back. I scrunched my eyes closed tightly at the realization that technically, Malfoy had seen me half-naked for a short time. It made my stomach drop, it made me want to wipe his memory, and it made me want to stay in bed for as long as possible.

In accordance with my brand new pledge of rationality, I would have to talk with him about it. I flung myself violently backwards, into a prone position. _Assertion one: the truth and the facts are the most important part of any situation. Assertion two: discussing that night with Malfoy will make me uncomfortable. Assertion three: if I don't, it might cause more permanent mental harm. Conclusion: it's the most rational thing to do._

Dreading the morning, I decided to savor my last few minutes of irrationality. I fished leaned over and reached under my bed at the spot where I knew _Hogwarts, A History_ would be. My eyes scanned the familiar words in Chapter 9 until I drifted back off to sleep.

**XXXXXX**

I re-occupied my cot unsure of the interaction Granger and I'd just had, but feeling distinctly that I had won. I laid awake thinking alternately about Granger's side and hoping it was okay, and trying to deny the fact I had found Granger entirely attractive during the whole incident.

After exhausting all other possible topics of thought, however, I finally allowed my mind to consider it. This turned out to be a mistake, as the minute I gave the matter any though, I became severely guilty and disturbed with myself. I had never been one to get off on a sexual power trip, despite my high position in society. Now, I was looking after a girl who had been assaulted, and she looked best to me when she was vulnerable and scared. Was I any better than her attacker? I wrestled with the concept, and tried to figure out what part the bond played in the attraction—if I could prove it was controlling me, I could let myself off the hook. Somewhere in the deep considerations of how to prove this to myself, I drifted off to sleep.

The next thing I remember, I was turning over on my cot violently, before sitting up quickly and noticing that it had become morning. I also noticed that I was breathing heavily and my heart was throbbing. Why was my heart pounding? I had been dreaming…of exactly what, I couldn't remember. I leaned sideways against the wall, closed my eyes, and tried to steady my breathing. I tried to recall whatever situation had me so frenzied—the picture of the scene of the attack flashed in my mind. Had I too been dreaming of Granger's assault?

I wasted no time in peeling back my covers to find Granger. Her bedroom door was open, she wasn't in it. I could hear her, however, only meters away in her tiny kitchen. I crossed the main room and turned the corner, and sure enough, she was standing at some shiny mechanical device, already dressed. It was only 7:30, according to my watch. I stood a few paces behind her, attempting to judge from her back if she felt any pain.

I cleared my throat. "Good morning," I said, already wondering if she'd let me check her side again.

She turned, smiling. "To you as well," she responded brightly. _Merlin, she's a morning person._ The thing behind her made a popping noise. "Would you like some toast?" she asked, after hearing the sound.

"Uh, sure…" I paused, and looked around her at the silver contraption. "What is that?"

She laughed. "It's a toaster." She reached up, opened a cupboard and retrieved a plate.

"Do Muggles use it, then?" I asked, taking the plate, now with two browned slices of bread, from her hand.

"Yes," she said with a hint of exasperation, "but I'm convinced electricity will make its way to the wizarding world eventually. You aren't all still using outhouses, are you?" This, I gathered, was rhetorical. She handed me an open jar of red jelly with a knife sticking out. We made our way to the tiny two-person table, Granger carrying two glasses of orange juice. Once I was seated across from her, and she had passed me one of the glasses, I spread the jam—raspberry—across my toast.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I asked, and then licked the jam off a finger.

"I already had two pieces before you got up," she replied, looking at the toast on my plate.

I took a bite, then sipped my juice. "It's good, thanks."

She smiled, clearly in a much better mood than the middle of last night. It was such a stark contrast, in fact, that I was put a bit on edge—I didn't want to be caught unaware by anything because she had lulled me into feeling safe with some toast and a smile.

"How are you feeling?" I asked after a minute of silence (interrupted occasionally by chewing).

"Much better," she stated quickly. "I wasn't thinking entirely clearly last night."

I smirked inwardly at her deliberate lack of apology. She had thought about this response, obviously.

"And your side?" I asked warily.

"It's fine. Not bothering me in the slightest," she answered calmly.

I took my last bite of toast and looked at Granger, deciding whether to ask my next question. I realized, however, that I would likely go insane if I didn't.

"May I…" I paused, choosing my words carefully. "…examine it? To make sure?"

She inhaled deeply and held her breath for a moment, finally releasing it through a pursed mouth slowly and evenly. This strange behavior increased my worry.

"After a moment," she replied, eyes closed. "I need to talk with you about something first."

I had no idea what she wanted and I was slightly uneasy, but I was also glad to see Granger's rationality and perseverance in the matter returning. She seemed not to want to have this discussion, but was determined to go through with it regardless. It was something a Slytherin would never do, certainly, but as it was very Granger, I felt that she was back to her usual self after her distressing night.

I didn't say anything in response, but instead raised my eyebrows in anticipation.

"After I was _placed_ back in bed last night," she began, with a hint of scorn lingering in her tone, "I started thinking that you must have picked me up before, after the attack, correct?

I always found it difficult to be calm at the mention of the incident. My heart quickened angrily and I clenched my jaw, but I answered, "Well, of course. I picked you up and apparated us to St. Mungo's." I was bemused, slightly, by this line of questioning, but I tried not to let on.

"I just…last night, I couldn't stop thinking that…" her face colored deep pink, and she talked at the table "…all I had covering me was my jacket." She looked up at me, eyes shining with apprehension.

"Oh, is _that_ what this is about? Granger, believe me, I couldn't get your jacket over you quick enough—it was nothing, I barely remember. Even before I crossed your magic, it was priority one." I rushed through my words, trying to reassure her as quickly as possible. It was natural that she should worry about it—she had a lodger who, theoretically, had seen her topless.

But actually, the mental image had done nothing but incense me more whenever I thought about the attack. Her hands were tied above her head, she was crying, something in my head reminded me, and that man was sitting on her, having cut off her shirt, cutting her in the process. Rage again flooded my veins and clouded my vision.

Granger must have seen the quick darkening of my face and mind, because she hurriedly reached across the table and clasped my wrist.

"No, no, no, calm down," she urged. Her touch, of course, dissipated most of my anger and brought me back to the matter at hand.

"Anyway, Granger, try not to worry about it," I advised after a minute, when I could again think completely clearly.

She smiled. "I'll do my best."

As her best was usually _the_ best (annoyingly so), I felt that she would soon put the matter behind her.

"We're getting better at this," she grinned, withdrawing her arm.

"Yes, you reacted quite quickly that time," I said, sincerely grateful. I loathed those moments, when I was taken out of the present and trapped in my own recollections and nightmares.

"And you came out of it very well," she replied, her tone patronizing. I did not appreciate it, and clenched my jaw.

"Thanks ever so," I replied sardonically.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't respond. It was infuriating; I wished she would snip back.

"I just thought that given our new and rational understanding, I should discuss my concerns with you," she said. Her voice betrayed her renewed feeling of superiority at having behaved more rationally than I. "Is there anything similar you would like to discuss with me?" she asked, as if she was asking for the answer to homework she had given me.

"No," I replied quickly, defiantly, and untruthfully. Her patient expression, however, undermined my determination.

"Yes," I groaned, cursing our agreement. I swallowed a lump in my throat. "The fact that I see you as…attractive…when you're vulnerable concerns me," I said, hand on forehead. "Last night, after I was certain you were alright, it happened again. You were lying there worried and…how am I any better than a rapist if I respond like in suhc a way to helplessness?" I paused, and then words came out without my permission. "After I fell asleep, when I dreamt about the attack, I was…I was the attacker." I said this as if I had known it since I woke up, and perhaps I had, subconsciously. It made my stomach turn over.

She looked serious for a moment, and then shook her head as if shaking of the concern altogether.

"No, Malfoy. It's the Phenomenon. I'm sure of it."

"How can you possibly be sure?"

She tilted her head kindly.

"Because this sort of thing has never happened to you before, clearly! You're immensely worried about it—if it's never been a problem, and it is now, it must be the bond. It's only logical."

I wasn't completely sure logic could be applied in this situation, but I was ready to trust her if it meant I wasn't severely disturbed. I sighed, relieved.

"May I _please_ see your side now?" I asked, betting that she hoped I'd forget.

It was her turn to sigh, but she slowly and carefully lifted her t-shirt on the right side. It was a dusky purple, but looked only marginally worse than the minutes after she fell.

She dropped her shirt and it fell, a curtain over the biggest worry of my morning.

**XXXXXX**

The morning's interaction, more than any other, gave me confidence that Malfoy and I would be able to get along, as well as eventually accomplish the equally Herculean task of overcoming the Phenomenon. I saw, in his worry, a true person that I had never seen before. He wasn't worried about _me_, and he wasn't worried because he _had_ to be—he was worried, understandably so, that he was a bad person. It was wonderful to see, and it illustrated how completely he had changed since I'd known him at Hogwarts.

After I reassured him, we sat across from each other at the table having a friendly, normal, pleasant conversation. Eventually, I raised a question I'd been avoiding.

"Malfoy…don't you have to go back to work? Tomorrow's Monday."

"Granger, I own four businesses."

"Really?" I hadn't expected him to be so industrious.

"I don't ever have to work if I don't wish to." _Ah. Perhaps not._ "I only run the MPI because I like it."

"Why?" I was genuinely curious.

"It's sneaky. Requires cunning and know-how. All things I possess," he said with a cocky smirk.

"Do you ever take cases?"

"Sometimes. The most interesting ones, usually. The rest I dole out to the others. I have seven working for me there."

_How surprising_, I inwardly joked of his selfishness.

"So, if you have four businesses…why do you still live at the Manor?" I asked, having previously assumed he was waiting on an inheritance to live as lavishly as he wished.

He shrugged. "It'll be mine eventually. Doesn't really make sense to move out."

I pressed my lips together tightly at the thought of the Manor, but answered, "I suppose."

A moment later, I said, "Well, I have several job offers, so I just have to choose one, and I'll be able to–"

"What?" he interrupted, suddenly very alarmed. "You can't work, I'd have to go with you! How do you expect that to work out, exactly?"

"How do you expect me to advance my career if I can't work?" I asked, equally ardently.

"Well…you can work for me." He said with finality.

"I—what?" I sputtered. "Don't just hire me because you don't want me to work anywhere else!"

"Look, would you have taken if I'd have offered it to you under normal circumstances?" he asked plainly.

"Well, yes, but would you have offered it to me after that disastrous interview?"

"Oh please, you know you're qualified." He flipped his hand, gesturing as if banishing my objections from the air.

"Fine, I'll work for you. Thank you." I smiled, trying not to let on that such an offer had been in my plans from the beginning. I knew Malfoy wouldn't let me work for anyone else if it meant he had to tag along.

"But I'd like to wait a week."

This I hadn't expected. "Why? If I work for you, we'll still be around each other," I reasoned.

"I know, Granger, but I'd really like a week to make sure everything's under control. Please." As long as he was asking for himself, and didn't doubt my capabilities, I supposed it would be alright to wait a week to start.

"Okay. A week. We can sit around here and stare at our knees for a week," I joked.

"I'm sure you've needed to catch up on your reading, anyway," he quipped back sarcastically. I then took the last sip of juice out of my glass, stood, and sent the dishes flying to the sink, where they made themselves busy washing up. I turned back around, and Malfoy was standing as well.

"Ginny's coming by later," I mentioned.

"What for?" he asked, one brow raised suspiciously. _For heaven's sake, it's just Ginny_.

"Wedding stuff," I said non-descriptively, as even I couldn't discern what Ginny would want to plan on a daily basis.

"When is that, anyway?" he asked. I wondered why he cared, but answered.

"December 4th."

"That's more than three months from now!" he exclaimed, as if weddings were something that could be thrown together over a weekend.

"There's quite a lot to plan actually, given that Ginny's actually marrying someone with money, and doesn't want to put Mrs. Weasley through another backyard wedding." I said, trying to be patient and not at all condescending.

"Well," he exhaled loudly, "as much as Potter would love to have me at his wedding," he smirked, "I'd like to have this Phenomenon beat by then."

"It's a good goal." I hoped an achievable one, as well.

"So, what're you doing until she gets here?" he asked, before holding up his hand and continuing, "Don't tell me. _Studying_."

"For the next few hours, yes. Would you like something to read?" I inquired, making a mental list of titles he might enjoy.

"No, thank you, I should write some letters. My friends know nothing about this; they'll be expecting to hear from me sooner or later."

I _accioed_ a quill and parchment for him, and a book (_Intricacies of Magical Extradition Policies_) for myself, and he guided me to the couch with a hand placed automatically on the small of my back. He, in turn, sat on the floor, using the coffee table to write his letters.

**xxx**

Hours later, just past noon, there was a knock on the door—normally Ginny would have walked right in, but it seemed that Malfoy's wards were doing their job. I rose and (after shaking off a slight dizzy spell) walked to the door, bringing with my tall blond shadow. I opened the door as he waved his wand, lifting the enchantments.

As soon as she was in view, Ginny was smiling playfully. "Hello you two," she said. "Nice of you to answer together, present a united front," she said.

"Hi, Gin," I breezed, ushering her in as Malfoy turned to reoccupy the living room floor. Ginny, seeing his monopolization of the coffee table, reached in her bag and pulled out several sheaves of parchment.

"We're going to need this space, Grand Protector," she said with an air of authority. I stifled my laughter at Ginny's ability to joke about anything. "We have flowers and desserts to discuss."

"How scintillating," he smirked, but picked up his letters, finished and un-finished, and relocated to the dining table. I hugged her as we sat down simultaneously on my sofa.

"First of all," she said, spreading out her plans, "Harry's nixed anything that grew in his Aunt and Uncle's garden, so that rules out begonias and several others," she sighed.

"They're not coming to the wedding, are they?" I asked. I didn't know the full extent of the abuses Harry had suffered as a child, but I knew he hadn't had an easy time of it.

"Mmm…he's still deciding on whether to send them an invitation that he claims they'll turn down anyway. His cousin's coming though. They get on alright now," she said distractedly, crossing out something about mums.

**XXXXXX**

The Weasley girl had blazed in and filled the apartment with wedding plans. I mused, from the table, that it was rather surprising Potter had landed her, as she was quite the knockout, and he skinny and unkempt. _I suppose fame can accomplish wonders._ I finished up my last letter (to Goyle) after writing quite lengthy letters to Blaise, Nott, and my mother. I folded them, and made a note to ask Granger about an owl later. I knew I could simply summon an elf and have him mail them, but I felt that it might be presumptuous to do so without her permission. I looked over at the wedding conspirators, and finding them deep in conversation, heads together, I resigned myself with the notion that I would once again have to pick entertainment from Granger's very dull bookshelf.

**XXXXXX**

I noticed, as Ginny and I were discussing pros and cons of shortcake, Malfoy inspecting my bookshelf. I pointed my wand behind the couch, causing a book I guessed he'd enjoy to pull itself out of the ranks and wave in front of his face. He looked over his shoulder at me, and I smiled over Ginny's still-bent head. He nodded once, amused, picked up the book, and returned to his chair, looking mildly interested in the volume.

Ginny seemed to have sensed something, because she looked up at me, then turned to look at Malfoy holding my book, and back at me.

"If I could have a few moments of your time, Miss Maid of Honor," she teased, "I'd like to discuss orchids."

"Gin," I chided half-heartedly. "You know you have my full devotion."

"Does that include refreshing beverages?" she queried. "Because I could really go for some tea."

"Certainly," I said, and stood to oblige.

As soon as I did, I felt incredibly light-headed, and watched my field of vision grow smaller and smaller, eventually going completely black.

**XXXXXX**

I saw Granger stand out of the corner of my eye, and though I was actually interested in _The Chronology of Knockturn Alley_, I was instinctively drawn to keeping a watchful eye on her. It was a good thing, too, because I saw her tip and fall, and was able to leap out of my chair, heart pounding uncontrollably, and catch her before she hit the ground.

**There you have it. I couldn't resist having him catch her—cliche, I know. Sorry for the tiny cliffhanger. Review for me, please?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Good Morrow, dear readers! I hope you're ready and excited for this next installment. First, however, I have several orders of business to take care of. **

**Thank you to all wonderful reviewers of chapter 7: artyholly01, EsemmeTressemme, TwinzLover, Angel Girl5, .g-baby, Helynn90, RosieMellark, frostykitten, Gryff-Slytherin, GottaGetBackUp, and RosieMellark again :)**

**Next I need to ask my readers a favor: I was intrigued by a reviewer who said they found my story on a Facebook fan site...my curiosity has peaked! If anyone found this story through anything besides fanfiction, could you please let me know where? I'd love to go check it out and feel flattered.**

**Lastly, I wanted to offer my (very rough!) blueprint of Hermione's house...I often like to have the layout of these things set out so I can picture things better, so here is the link to the blueprint, but you'll have to type it out without the spaces. (**If you don't need it or don't want it, feel free to not copy-paste into your browser. It isn't strictly necessary.)**:**

**h t t p : / / a 5 . s p h o t o s . a k . f b c d n . n e t /hphotos-ak-prn1/550866_10150799772943296_706808295_11415569_1271492812_**

**Alright, down to business. True to cliffhanger form, we start with Malfoy this time. Happy reading!**

**Last time:**

I saw Granger stand out of the corner of my eye, and though I was actually interested in _The Chronology of Knockturn Alley_, I was instinctively drawn to keeping a watchful eye on her. It was a good thing, too, because I saw her tip and fall, and was able to leap out of my chair, heart pounding uncontrollably, and catch her before she hit the ground.

**Now:**

I had just caught a falling Granger, and I was now, for the third time, standing with her in my arms. Time seemed to slow—I believe my intense fear kicked my brain into overdrive. Weasley had jumped up and was looking confused and concerned. I looked into Granger's face, hoping for a sign of life, but it was completely slack.

"What happened?" the redhead asked.

"I don't know. Check her pulse," I commanded. I couldn't see any beat in her throat, and obviously my hands were too full to reach her wrist.

In the moments when Weasley reached out, grabbed Granger's wrist, and checked for a pulse, a million thoughts raced each other around my mind. _She can't be dead. What happened? When should we leave for the hospital? Was it a spell? Was it caused by the attack? Or the dream? _and _How could I have let this happen?_ were just a few.

"She has a pulse," Weasley breathed. "She just fainted." I could have kissed her. "You should probably put her down, it'll be easier for her to breathe," she said, her eyes still trained on Granger. Weasley remained concerned, but was much less frightened, now that it had been established that her friend was more or less alright.

Even so, I did not want to put Granger down. Not only was I still considering the hospital, but the bond made me feel that as long as I was holding Granger, we were tied together, and she was safe. As soon as I put her down, there would be no tie, no tether, no sure way for me to protect her.

"What do you think happened?" I asked, stalling. The worry was monopolizing my brain, and try as I might, I couldn't think of a reason for her lack of consciousness.

"I…I don't know…stress? She's certainly been through a lot…" Weasley ventured, hand behind her head. "Is she dehydrated, has she been eating?"

"I think so, I–" But my search through my memory was cut short when Granger stirred in my arms. My eyes hadn't left her since she passed out, and I noticed she turned her head slightly to the left, toward my chest.

"Granger?" I tested.

Ginny Weasley reached out again and felt her forehead. Granger's turned her head again, away from me this time.

"Hermione?" Weasley called gently.

Granger's eyes slowly opened. Every pore of my body was flooded with relief at her renewed consciousness. I carefully observed her confused face.

"What happened?" she said softly, looking up at me for a few seconds, and then turning to face her friend.

Weasley laughed with relief. "Why don't you tell us?"

"You fainted," I informed her. I noticed, parenthetically, that she was now growing slowly heavier in my arms. I could still hold her, certainly, but it was no longer easy.

Granger looked sheepish. "Oh. I'm so sorry," she said, looking at Ginny. She was determinedly avoiding my eyes after the first look when she awoke. I had a feeling it was to do with a conversation we had over breakfast.

Weasley looked for a moment back and forth between the two of us, presumably noticing the lack of eye contact, and then raised her eyebrows.

"Anyway, Malfoy, I think you can put her down now," she said more slowly than before, evidently under the impression that I was not ignoring her, but stupid.

"He won't want to," Granger said quietly, looking at her friend. "It's apparently the best way to keep me safe."

I was irritated at the possibility of their carrying on a conversation about me without my input.

I cleared my throat. "Contrary to the current opinion of the room," I drawled loudly, "I am actually quite intelligent, and can hear and understand both of you."

Granger finally turned her head back to me and looked me in the eyes. Her cheeks were pink. She was very pretty.

"Malfoy," she said plainly yet coaxingly, "will you please put me down? I'm fine, and I'll be perfectly safe on the sofa." At the moment, she was the only one I would've allowed to speak to me so sweetly, but it did nothing to lessen the deep resistance I felt at the idea of setting her down.

"Malfoy," she said again, still patiently. "I will be safe. You will be here. Nothing bad will happen."

I finally conceded, lowering Granger slowly onto the sofa, so she was sitting with her legs outstretched. I made sure she was secure, then removed my arms from underneath her. She watched my face as I set her down, then averted her gaze back to Ginny Weasley, who, I would have noticed if I was paying the slightest amount of attention to her, watched the interaction with wide, confused eyes.

I felt the ties fray and then break—my most secure bond to Granger was broken, and it was a loss I felt in the bottom of my stomach where worry pooled; it felt like cold acid. I sat down on the coffee table immediately behind me, resisting the urge to fuss with the pillows at her back. Ginny Weasley sat down in the chair behind me to the right.

"Hermione, _what_ happened?" she asked. "Was that a fluke, or is there something you haven't told us?"

This time Granger looked away from both Weasley and me. "I believe I stood up too fast. Silly, really."

"Mhm," I said, unconvinced. After Weasley had asked all her questions while Granger was still unconscious, I realized that I had not actually seen Granger put food into her mouth since I'd been with her, only play with food on her plate. "Granger," I continued, "when was your last meal, exactly?" I was kicking myself for being so stupid. It was downright irresponsible, not taking into account the eating habits of someone who'd had a great stress.

She turned her head in my direction, but didn't look in my eyes. Instead, she addressed the middle of my torso when she said, "Friday afternoon." Her eyelids hid her usually-expressive eyes.

"Hermione!" Weasley said with surprise and concern. She walked behind the couch, and tucked a piece of Granger's hair behind her ear, joining it to the masses. "Why haven't you eaten anything?" she asked in the same questioning tone. "You must be starving, what can I fix for you?"

"I'm not really…I haven't been eating because I haven't been hungry," she said earnestly, trying to exonerate herself of any wrongdoing in the eyes of Weasley and myself.

"Granger!" I said incredulously. "You need to eat! It isn't something you can skip for days at a time, for heaven's sake, it's been two days! It's dangerous!"

I set off for the kitchen, intent on fetching food immediately, but the same force acted on me that I had first experienced in the hospital room. I reached a point about halfway between Granger and the kitchen where I was telling my feet to move, but they simply weren't listening. Recognizing the futility of fighting it, I turned on my heel and marched back to Granger.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" I demanded again.

"What?—no, didn't we just do this?" she asked, startled by my sudden change in direction.

"Kitchen's too far," I said hurriedly, hoping to come off less pathetic than I felt.

Weasley hopped up. "I'll do it. What can I get you, Hermione?" I had never liked a Weasley more than I liked Ginny Weasley at that moment.

"I'm _really_ not–" Granger began, but Weasley's expression clearly stated that she was going to eat, whether she was hungry or not. The girl was really climbing the ranks of people in my good books.

"I'll have a sandwich, I suppose" Granger said, as meekly as I'd ever heard her speak. "I think I have some turkey in the refrigerator." Weasley stood, flung her hair around, and headed to the back of the house.

Meanwhile, I had taken up my former place in front of Granger.

"Should I move you to bed?" I asked. "How's your side, was it hurt when you fell?"

She rolled her eyes. "Malfoy, I didn't even have the chance to fall, you were here too fast. And I'm _fine,_" she repeated.

"Then why aren't you eating?" I said quietly, intending to keep the conversation in the two feet of space between Granger and me.

"Because I'm not hungry," she said stubbornly, dropping her voice as well.

"Well, why aren't you hungry?" I asked gently, knowing I was treading on fragile territory.

She immediately dropped her eyes, which had previously been holding my gaze with fervor. She looked at her hands, which were twisting in her lap.

My hand reached out on its own and lifted her chin slowly, raising her face until her eyes were once again looking at mine. My thumb and forefinger gripped her chin gently.

In a moment I considered completely out-of-character, her wide brown eyes caught me off guard, and I had to resist the strangely sudden, and completely inappropriate, gripping desire to bring her lips to mine. Something near my navel did a backflip, but I worked to quell it quickly, and I withdrew my hand from her chin.

She didn't seem to notice anything odd in the gesture, though, because she looked through me as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Finally, she opened her mouth to answer.

"Lack of appetite can be a result of a great stress," she sighed. "Something about the attack has suppressed my desire for food." She admitted this as though it was weakness on her part, even though her words said that it was a common reaction.

"But is it _rational_ to stop eating because of that?" I asked, trying to be sensitive, yet appeal to her strong affinity for logic.

One corner of her mouth twitched, as if it was considering smiling, but decided against it.

"No, it wouldn't be." We were in such a strange moment; she was so vulnerable, and I was so worried, and yet there was an almost peaceful atmosphere surrounding us. It only barely registered that Weasley was still in the house, presumably making a sandwich.

"Granger…do you want to talk about…anything?" I wanted to assuage her distress without making her unduly uncomfortable.

Her eyes darted around the room, trying to affix their gaze to anything but my face. She opened her mouth, clearly with the intention of explaining herself. The matter in question had shifted from her refusal to eat to the actual attack, and we both knew it.

"I just…I spend so much time trying not to think about it, but that only means it's there, just under the surface," her words came out faster and faster, "and…he tied me up, Malfoy, he…" her voice broke, but she continued and I didn't dare interrupt. "He put his fingers _in_ me, how am I supposed to just forget all that?"she choked. Twin tears ran down her cheeks, one from each outer corner of her eyes, and her face screwed with emotional pain.

As for me, there was the familiar roar of anger in my chest, but far, far more profound was the concern for her that twisted my heart—it was wrung so tightly, in fact, that I was surprised I could still be living. I was so protective from the Phenomenon that I would have given _anything_ to make her stop hurting.

I instinctively reached out with one arm and pulled her to my chest. She didn't fight me, and she didn't wail, but her shoulders shook with silent sobs. The moment was no longer peaceful, but raw and real. I wrapped both arms around her and cradled her head with one hand. It occurred to me, as my shirt grew progressively wetter, that she had not yet had this moment, or any like it. During the attack she had screamed and cried, but fainted from weakness immediately after. In the hospital she had remained stoic, though she had clearly been upset, and since returning home, she had attempted to move on with life normally; which, of course, she hadn't been able to do, because she had not had this moment. In fact, she had done more to ensure that _I _was handling the situation than she had done looking after herself. This breakdown was her way of finally confronting the whole of her assault, and in my opinion, most people would have had it sooner—she was incredibly stubborn.

I gathered Granger's hair behind her back, and in so doing, I looked over her head and saw Ginny Weasley standing between the kitchen and the living room, holding a sandwich on a plate, looking shocked. I shook my head at her, almost imperceptibly. Mercifully, she understood, and backed away into the kitchen, once more out of sight.

I understood that Granger was only able to have this moment because we didn't know each other, because we _weren't_ friends. She was too strong to do this in front of Weasley, or any other friend.

Her breathing had become ragged, but she still wasn't making much noise. My worry ebbed slowly away as she seemed to relax more and more, and I was fairly certain she had stopped crying.

Finally, she reached her arms up and pushed herself slightly away from me, and I released her.

"Better?" I asked simply.

She managed a watery smile.

"Much."

**XXXXXX**

Before my meltdown, I had been acutely aware of (and embarrassed by) the fact that Malfoy had probably found me attractive in those moments, what with the fainting and the carrying. I had done my best to avoid eye contact with him because of it, but after Ginny had left, he was so…gentle…that it completely displaced that notion. I always find that someone's kindness in a time of distress brings tears more than any harsh words or anger.

I finally unloaded, finally admitted how much the assault was actually on my mind, despite my best efforts otherwise. As he pulled me into him, I vaguely wondered how much of his actions were his own, and how much was instinctive auto-pilot, only his reaction to my magic's imprint.

When I had stopped crying, I had remembered my embarrassment, and pushed away from him, but I felt different, I felt as if something—some process or journey—had actually _begun_. I was no longer in an awkward, stagnant state of repression—I had hit bottom, I had broken down, and I could now begin to move past it, however that would work.

I was now sitting facing Malfoy, rather than half-lying on the sofa.

"Better?" he asked, eyes roaming my face, presumably for any signs of further injury.

"Much," I said truthfully.

"Good," he said, and then much more loudly continued, looking over my head, "then I believe Miss Weasley should be nearly finished with that sandwich?"

"Patience, Malfoy," Ginny's voice came from the kitchen, though getting louder as she approached. She handed me a plate with a turkey sandwich, and miraculously, I was suddenly ravenous. I sat the plate on my lap and tore into the meal, trying not to notice Malfoy watching me eat. Ginny sat down next to me and laughed.

"You seemed to have regained your appetite, then."

"It would appear so," I said, mouth half-full.

I glanced in Malfoy's direction and noticed a sizeable wet spot on the front of his shirt.

"Oh, your shirt."

"It's fine, don't worry abou–" but he was cut off as I took out my wand and sent a jet of warm air at him. It dried in less than a minute. He raised his eyebrows in thanks.

Ginny checked her watch. "I've got about 20 more minutes, and then Harry wants me back. Mrs. Tonks is bringing Teddy round for the night," she said. Harry had his own house, and Ginny technically still lived at the Weasleys', but she spent at least half of her time at Harry's place. "And there's no way we're spending those 20 minutes on my wedding," she added.

"Ooh, I wish I could come," I lamented. "I haven't seen him in weeks, how is he?" I swallowed a large mouthful.

"Big," Ginny's eyes sparkled. She loved the boy almost as much as Harry did. "He's got so much energy all the time, too, and he adores Harry more than ever." She paused. "You _could_ come for dinner, you know, if you wanted."

Part of me did want to, but the other part knew that it wasn't the best time, and it certainly wouldn't be fair to Malfoy, who had been so patient and understanding already.

"Thanks love, but I don't think now's the best time." I broke my own rule about looking over at Malfoy, who looked like he was relieved, but trying to hide it. "Maybe soon, though. Kiss him for me."

"Ha, if I can catch him." She grinned.

I finished my sandwich and set the plate down on the coffee table in front of me. I had vaguely suspected that Malfoy wouldn't want to move across the room back to his chair, and I turned out to be very correct. I continued to talk with Ginny, and he continued to sit on the table mere feet from me. I made several efforts to draw him into conversation (it felt awkward to have him just sit there silently), but he usually offered only one or two words to further the subject, and I gave up, slightly frustrated, but doing my best to not be—he had been so perfectly understanding that it wouldn't have been right to be miffed at him.

After what seemed like no time at all, Ginny was leaving. I got up and walked her to the door, and Malfoy followed. We hugged, and then Ginny flashed him a truly genuine, not at all mischievous smile. To my surprise, he returned a small (albeit closed-mouth) smile, equally as genuinely. I felt as though I had missed something, and furrowed my brow in confusion.

Ginny kissed me on the check as I opened the door for her, and whispered "I'm glad you're feeling better," before she spun on the front step and vanished. As I watched her go, I felt the increasingly-familiar weight of Malfoy's hand on my shoulder. I closed the door slowly, and heard Malfoy muttering to renew his safety spells.

As soon as he finished, he turned me to face him. "How are you," he asked. "Are you still hungry? I think maybe you should eat again."

"Erm, yes actually, I really could." As much as I didn't want to give Malfoy another thing to fret about, the sandwich had done little to stave of the ravenous feeling that has overtaken me as soon as I had finished crying and was handed a plate.

"Alright, I'll just call my elf and have him whip up a little dinner." He said this casually.

"Excuse me?"

"My house elf. He's a good cook,and I'll be able to give him the letters I wrote today to pass to my owl."

"There will be no house elf in this house," I said, exhaling loudly at the thought. "I do not condone slavery."

"Don't be ridiculous. He'll be delighted, I'm sure he misses me already," he said, as if he'd never heard anything more absurd. Well, _I'd_ never heard anything more absurd as using "lesser" species for slave labor in this day and age.

"Absolutely not." I shook my head.

He snorted. "Fine." And before I knew it, he'd _Accio'ed_ his letters, walked just outside my front door, and called his elf. The creature appeared before I could do anything about it. Malfoy handed him the letters quickly, and must have said two words to him before he had bowed and disappeared with a CRACK.

"Wh-what did—how—" I sputtered as Malfoy reentered my home.

"He'll be back in about twenty minutes with dinner," he smirked happily.

"He will not!" I replied indignantly.

"And how exactly do you plan to stop him, as I, his Master, demanded it?" He was so self-satisfied that I fought to keep my hands at my sides.

"Well, I won't eat a bite," I said as my stomach rumbled loudly.

"You will, you're starving."

"Absolutely not," I said again.

"Granger, you barely have any food in the house. Unless you want another sandwich, you'll pass out again before you can make yourself anything." His tone was dismissive.

"I will not! The last two days notwithstanding, I don't really faint, and I'd say these last two instances fall under the heading of extenuating circumstances, wouldn't you?"

With that, I marched into the kitchen without waiting for another word, and made myself another sandwich, ham and corned beef this time. Surprisingly, he didn't follow me, so I ate my meal standing in the kitchen. I finished it in two minutes, and I was slightly fuller, certainly not filled, but it would do—besides, I couldn't eat a third sandwich. I walked back into the front room, joining Malfoy with my arms crossed across my chest in soundless anger. He leaned against the wall, smirking back at me. He clearly thought this was a battle he would win, but he was sadly mistaken.

Soon enough, the house elf had reappeared just outside my house, and Malfoy levitated a steaming plate of pot roast and cooked carrots through the window. The smell, admittedly heavenly, made my stomach churn with instinctual longing.

"Plenty for both of us, Granger…" Malfoy said, following the floating dish to my kitchen table. I followed him, glaring. He fetched silverware and sat down, digging into the roast immediately.

Much as I wanted to, I had made up my mind to not touch a single bite of the meal. When Malfoy had eaten his fill (as I watched, glowering), he gestured to the few remaining pieces of meat and carrots. "I'm only going to throw this away, might as well have a bit," he said, showing amusement at my "unorthodox" refusal.

"I won't. We can go shopping tomorrow; I'll have plenty of food then. It's just been a while since I went is all."

"Suit yourself," he said, and made to throw the rest in the rubbish bin.

"Wait!" I shouted. As much as I didn't condone the house elf labor, I couldn't bear to see that food thrown out. I passed him a tupperware container. He looked at me questioningly, but obeyed and transferred the rest of the meat into the container, which I then placed in the refrigerator.

"Well," he said as he stood, "I'm quite full." I rolled my eyes.

I stepped forward, ready to give him my full speech on the evils and cruelty of house elf enslavement, but before I could begin, there was a loud knock at the door.

Right away, the change in Malfoy was very noticeable. He tensed up visibly, and turned his head in the direction of the front door while simultaneously grabbing my forearm tightly.

"Who is that?" he hissed. I was puzzled for a moment, because a knock on the door is not inherently threatening, but I reasoned that it must have been the combination of the situation being unexpected and the idea that there was a stranger (who, in Malfoy's mind, probably wanted to harm me) at the door.

"I don't know–" his grip was incredibly tight on my arm, "ow, Malfoy, you're hurting me…" I said, as I tried to pry my arm from his clasp. Of course, he became immediately concerned about that as well, and I skirted around him as he did his best to make sure my arm was alright. He was useless, basically. I turned around and headed for the door. Malfoy quickly stopped me.

"Wait," he commanded.

"Let me at least see who it is, at least!" I said, ignoring his command. I crossed the room and peeked out the front window.

I half-laughed, half-scoffed. "It's just my neighbor, Malfoy."

"Well, what do they want?" he asked, intensely.

"I suspect we'll have to answer the door to find out," I said dryly, but I saw worry etched into his face.

"Magic or Muggle?" he interrogated.

"Muggle. He's harmless, I promise." As I moved to open the door, Malfoy moved directly behind me, looming over me protectively.

I opened the door to the smiling face of my neighbor, John. He was about 26, with dark hair and a kind, round face. He was just under six feet, but thick with broad shoulders.

"Hi, John," I said, smiling.

"Hi, Hermione, you look nice today," he said with a charismatic grin. I looked down—he was being generous, as I was wearing a simple blue t-shirt and jean capris.

"Thanks," I said anyway.

In a very odd turn of events, I actually felt Malfoy grow hotter against my back. In literally seconds, he went from normal human temperature to what felt scorching. I shot a concerned look over my shoulder, but otherwise tried to ignore the waves of feverish worry radiating from him.

John eyes flicked up from above my face, looking for the first time at Malfoy.

"Oh," I said. "This is my, um…this is…Draco Malfoy." I gestured with a free hand to the man standing behind me.

"Hi," John nodded, looking uncertain.

"Anyway," I continued, "can I do something for you?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, actually, you can."

Malfoy made a quiet, low throat noise, similar to the time in the hospital I thought I'd heard him growl. We were going to have to have another serious talk about his treatment of Muggles.

He continued, "I was wondering if you had an extension cord I could borrow? The hardware store's closed, and I need one for a little yard work."

"Yeah, I think I have one, hold on a minute," I said, and twisted my hair and held up a finger, indicating that he should wait. I partially closed the front door, behind which was a utility closet. I stood on tiptoes, reaching around on the top shelf until my fingers closed on an orange extension cord about 3 meters long.  
>"Will this do?" I asked, showing him the cord after I closed the closet door.<p>

"Yeah, perfect," he said, taking the cord I held out to him.

"Keep it as long as you need," I said, trying not to pay attention to the heated Malfoy still pressed up against me from behind.

"Thanks a lot," he said with a smile. "Maybe I'll drop round with some biscuits or something, as a thank you."

"Oh, you don't need to, it's no trouble," I laughed.

"Cheers," he said, flitting one last confused look at Malfoy. "See you, then."

"Bye, John," I said, closing the door after he turned and left.

I turned to face Malfoy, sighing. "Was that really the best you could do?"

"I think I did pretty damn well, considering," he said, looking down at me. I noticed his face was flushed.

"Merlin," I said, feeling his forehead. "You're burning up. What _is_ that?" I asked, taking out my wand to cast a cooling spell.

"Some sort of anger/protective hybrid, as far as I can tell," he said, at the same time blocking my wand arm from rising fully. "I'll do it," he said, referring to cooling himself off, which he proceeded to do with his own wand.

"What were you angry about?" I asked. I understood the protective part perfectly; after all, to Malfoy, John was a stranger. But the anger part seemed quite out of place.

"He wants you," Malfoy spit out venomously.

I paused. "…to lend him an extension cord," I finished the sentence for him.

"Not at all. He _wants_ you."

I was so bewildered, as Malfoy and I stood very near each other having this conversation, that I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Malfoy, he's just a friendly neighbor who came over to borrow something!"

"No, Granger, he wasn't. I'm not an idiot; I'm a man and I can see. And he was hitting on you with that insipid suggestion about biscuits. And he told you that you looked good, for Merlin's sake." He spoke very harshly, reminding me of a sneering old Malfoy I knew well.

I considered his suggestion, then shook my head. "I really don't think so."

"Trust me," he said dismissively.

I, however, was not ready to dismiss the matter. "Why exactly did that make you so angry?"

"He's dangerous. If he wants you, he's risky and unpredictable."

I snorted. "That's a wild imagination you've got there, Malfoy."

**XXXXXX**

She could ignore it all she wanted, but I saw the way that man looked at her, and he definitely was after more than an extension cord. The subtle way he looked her up and down when she answered the door, the way he complimented her, and especially the way he watched her closely when she turned around to retrieve the cord all meant one thing: that man wanted Granger. And _that_ meant that he was dangerous. I hoped he would keep his distance and behave himself so I wouldn't have to kill him.

I had gone from being pleased I had gotten Granger to eat and happy from a good meal to sullen and angry. She turned away and settled herself on her sofa, and I followed and took up the chair that was quickly becoming my usual place.

"Even if he does like me, how exactly does that make him dangerous? I've known him for…" she paused in thought, "Almost a year, and he's been pretty harmless thus far."

Anger flared up in my stomach again at the thought of that man sniffing around Granger for a year. He probably had the upper hand, probably knew of several ways to get to Granger and take advantage of her.

"Can't you understand the concern I have about someone who wants to sleep with you?" I said, bluntly. I wasn't in any mood to veil my meaning, I was too heated.

She sputtered. "I—he—_that's_ what you think is going on? He came over here in the hope of sleeping with me?"

I looked across the table at her sullenly and nodded.

She took a deep breath, and answered slowly. "I know this isn't really _you_ acting this way. I need you to understand, though, that you're being ridiculous. And...rape isn't even about sexual attraction, if you didn't know. It's about power. The man who attacked me wasn't attracted to me—in fact," she swallowed, "he said several things to try to humiliate me with regards to my appearance. It has nothing to do with attraction," she repeated. "It's power."

I took a moment to wait for the blood lust to subside, then rubbed my neck.

"You're trying to minimize the other type of rape, Granger, which I know you're aware of, with all that Law Enforcement study." She balked. "I'm aware of the distinction between stranger and acquaintance rape, yes. And I know the latter _does_ have something to do with attraction, as well as power."

She tilted her head to the side, looking at me with interest. "You did really well just now, when I mentioned it," she observed.

"Don't change the subject, Granger. Just…be careful."

"I will," she said resignedly, "but I know that even if I'm not, you'll be careful for me."

I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgement, but she opened her mouth again.

"…but I still think you're wrong about John."

She was so intent on having the last word, but I could play that game as well as she.

"We'll see."

And, as unfortunate as I thought it was, I knew we would see. Whenever John returned, I would be on the lookout for a way to prove that he had Granger in his sights. I would also be ready to make John feel very, _very_ unwelcome around her.

We sat in silence, I in a very foul mood. I looked at Granger, noticing that I still found her just average-looking in normal, non-threatened situations. _That's good, at least, _I thought. I also saw that she was much more inclined to return my gaze steadily in this instance than she was an hour earlier on the sofa. We glared at each other for several minutes.

"Remember when I hit you?" she asked suddenly.

"Which time?" I asked seriously. The sting of embarrassment was slight, but still present, at the memory of the third year Granger slapping me across the face.

She snickered for a moment. "The second time. At St. Mungo's."

"Yes, I remember," I said.

"I'm sorry about that," she said sincerely. "I was startled."

"Understandably," I responded. "You aren't sorry about both times?" I asked goadingly.

"Definitely not," she sniffed.

I laughed, my mood had lightened considerably for some reason. "I suppose that's fair."

"Besides," she said mischievously, "Harry and Ron would kill me if I took that back." She smirked at me.

"Yes, well," I said haughtily, "if Potter and Weasel could manage that, I would be quite surprised."

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing like a little insult aimed at my friends to cheer you up, right?" Her tone, however, remained amiable.

"You aren't wrong."

We descended into silence again, though a more comfortable one than before. Granger tucked her legs underneath herself, summoned a book, and began to read. I, unfortunately, began to think wanderingly about what other things the would-be rapist said to Granger to humiliate her about her appearance. I already knew he expressed disappointment about her apparently plain undergarments (at this thought, I worked very hard for a few minutes to stay seated and clear-headed…it still made me want to kill), and I wondered if Granger would ever let it slip what else he had said. I simultaneously wanted to know and had absolutely no desire to hear it. I stared straight ahead, not really seeing, as the image came unbidden to my mind yet again: the crying, tied, helpless Granger with that man sitting over her. I worked to push it away, but I could only do so momentarily before it flashed right back into place.

It became a sort of test for myself, I would work as hard as I could at keeping the image at bay, sometimes for as long as a minute, and it would rush back in. After a dozen or so attempts, I was exhausted and furious, but I was able to keep the image away for almost five minutes. The problem, however, was that I had trapped myself in a cycle—I was focusing so hard on banishing the image of the helpless Granger that it wouldn't go away permanently. It was like what Granger had said earlier: the more she tried not to think about the attack, the more that meant it was just under the surface.

I was sweating from the unsuccessful effort to pull away from the memories for more than minutes at a time. I was concentrating as hard as possible, but I was becoming quickly drained. I felt my body temperature rise steadily, dangerously, when I finally settled on the idea that the man wasn't at all an immediate threat to Granger. I'd chased him off that day, and just today Granger had confronted the entire truth and reality of the situation. This kernel of knowledge broke through all my remembrances, shattering the images into pieces. I could again see Granger sitting in front of me, as well as the rest of her house. She appeared not to have noticed anything beyond the pages of her book, even though I must have been experimenting for almost an hour.

I was fatigued, and felt weak, but I had done it. I lay back as far as possible in the chair, resting my head, noticing as I did so that my entire body was slicked with sweat, and I was very queasy. Every fiber of my being screamed with exhaustion, and I longed to melt into the chair and simply stop existing. I focused instead on breathing sufficiently, and watching Granger through half-closed eyes. My breathing, however, was apparently noisy. Granger looked up.

"Malfoy, what—" she said with alarm, "why are you so pale? Are you alright? What's happening?"

"I was thinking…about the attack…" I said laboriously, "and I couldn't stop, but then…I kept trying and…I beat…that part of the…bond," I finished, my sentence punctured with undignified wheezes.

"Well that's wonderful!" she said optimistically, but then changed her tone to one of concern. "But…you look absolutely exhausted! Are you sure you're alright?"

"Bit of a headache," I said, grievously understating the throbbing in my head and the consuming tiredness I felt.

"Right…" she said skeptically, "well, why don't you go lie down? Or just close your eyes and have a bit of kip right here?"

I had no energy for anything other than the basic, absolute truth. "Can't," I grunted. "Not if you're awake." I knew I had to fight sleep to ensure her safety.

"This Phenomenon is so dangerous!" she said shrilly, with evident frustration. "You really need to rest!"

I attempted to shrug, but it must have looked more like a shoulder spasm. My eyes remained half-closed as I watched Granger.

A look of inspiration dawned on her face. "I have an idea," she proclaimed, though her voice shook the tiniest amount. She rose from her place on the sofa and came to stand in front of me. With difficulty, I opened my eyes fully so I could still see her.

She held out her hand. "Come here."

If she had a plan in mind, I was too tired to follow her thinking. "What?" I said.

"You feel better about, you know, my safety, with physical contact," she said, as I took her outstretched hand. "So," she grunted, pulling me as best she could out of the chair. I did as much as _I_ could to stand, and the combined effort was successful. "You'll come sit by me, and you'll be able to sleep." I teetered, but she led me by the hand to one end of the couch, which I quickly sank onto. She lifted my feet and set them on the coffee table. She then made to sit down beside me.

"I'm sweaty," I warned her with a mumble.

"I don't care," she said dismissively. She wasn't dainty, it was refreshing. She sat down next to me, picked up her book from the table, and rested it on my lap. She then curled up and (giving me a determined look first), rested her head between my neck and shoulder. Amazingly, she began to turn the pages of the book on my lap, as if this were a perfectly normal incident.

Feeling incredibly buoyed in my ability to protect Granger, I wrapped one arm around her, laid my head back once more, and fell asleep immediately.

**Hey, you should click that little review button. I would very much appreciate it. And for those of you who feel the story is moving too slowly, the next chapter will move through the next week very quickly, so don't fret. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, so it turns out it's harder to write when you work full-time than it is when you're in school! I'm sorry to anyone who has been waiting for this, but I made it a nice long one to (hopefully) appease you! Also, if you want to check it out, the link to the blueprint of Hermione's house is now on my profile.**

**Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers, especially to Divess for her late reviews that kept me going and to CrazySue05 for pimping out my story :)**

**This chapter starts with Hermione, lovelies. Enjoy!**

The next week passed fairly quickly. Malfoy's breakthrough, with his winning the battle against the mental images of the attack, gave us hope. We attempted to throw off one aspect of the bond for a short time each day, while still being mindful of our previous understanding to not rush ourselves in getting used to the effects of the Phenomenon. It necessitated caution; he would be quite exhausted after each attempt, sometimes becoming irritable and resistant to the idea of testing—still, I frequently assured him that progress was being made.

After that Sunday night with our first prolonged physical contact, when I read as Malfoy slept, it became a not uncommon occurrence for me to sacrifice my personal space to make him more at ease, especially after these endeavors.

On Monday and Tuesday, we tested the spatial restrictions. Malfoy stood outside the house (while I remained inside and out of sight) for as long as possible: 18 and 26 minutes, respectively, before he came trudging back inside, shaking slightly and wet with perspiration. Each time, he shook his head at me and muttered that I was mental and sadistic as I helped him to the sofa and let him rest as I settled against him. It was strange (and often a little damp), but I repeated Madame Derwent's instructions to myself as a mantra: make this easy on Malfoy.

On Wednesday and Thursday, we made it our mission to extend the amount of time Malfoy could refrain from touching me. Though he made it just over two hours the first day and nearly three on the second, he kept a keen eye on me the entire time. I had a feeling, however, that it would be much more difficult to do anywhere other than the safety of my home. He also wasn't exhausted after these attempts, but did feel the need to establish my safety with his hands afterwards. This was the worst for me, as I felt intensely uncomfortable standing still while he ran his hands over my head, shoulders, arms, and sides (abstractedly, as though he wasn't touching Hermione Granger, but something that had been dropped and might have been cracked); still, I clenched my teeth and repeated my mantra. Sometimes I inwardly cursed the fact that magics could have such an unfortunate consequence when they interacted, and the wizarding world in general for not having a solution.

On Friday, I purposefully brought up the attack and watched Malfoy as he struggled to fight the mental onslaught and eventually break through them without my help, each time in less than 10 minutes. Clearly, I would have to help him if it ever came up in a public setting, but after he was recuperated, we were both very optimistic about the outlook our ability to control the Phenomenon.

Saturday, however, was a different story. We attempted another walk around the neighborhood, and fared not at all better than the first time, with Malfoy being jumpy and overly-protective and not at all friendly to the (witch) neighbor of mine with whom I attempted to converse.

I hid my exasperation and disappointment as we decided to take Sunday off from these attempts, to ensure freshness and good humor for my first day of work on Monday. I was disappointed mainly because this was the "test" that was most important, I wanted most to succeed with, and it had felt the most futile.

Aside from these endeavors, Malfoy and I feel into a strange kind of antagonistic friendship. We would obviously argue a bit, bickering here and there, but often we discussed current and past events, discuss the Magical Private Investigation Agency, and sometimes left long stretches of silence between us where we were reading or writing. More than half of the time, it wasn't at all bad, having him there. Running errands and accomplishing outside tasks could be difficult, but inside my house, we could usually coexist in relative peace.

Near the end of the week, however, I did somewhat resent that I was severely limited in my ability to see or visit family and friends. I was quite pleased, therefore, when Harry and Ron owled on Thursday night to tell me they were going to visit the next evening.

I told Malfoy this as soon as I read the letter, trying to sound casual and not overly-excited.

"Harry and Ron are coming by tomorrow evening," I said from the window, in what I hoped was an offhanded tone, as I stroked the owl twice and sent her off back into the fresh evening air. He looked up from his chair, set that day's _Prophet_ on his knees, and groaned loudly.

"Stop it," I admonished quickly, and sat down in the other chair in my living room. "They're my best friends in the entire world, and I feel like I haven't seen them in ages. And you won't have to worry, because they've had almost nine years to hurt me if they felt like it, so I don't think they'll start tomorrow."

He protested a few more times in the next 24 hours, but Harry and Ron still came and I was still immensely glad. Malfoy, of course, came to the door with me, and after I greeted them and let them in, the four of us stood awkwardly in my small entryway.

"Mind if we talk in your room for a bit?" Ron asked, looking pointedly at Malfoy and implying that he was not invited.

I glanced sideways at the blond, who did not look at all pleased by the suggestion.

"Erm…for a minute, yeah," I said, stepping back. "Lead the way," I gestured, and Harry and Ron made their way to the back of my small house. I turned for a minute and grabbed Malfoy's arm, causing him to step back in surprise. I assumed he had intended to follow.

"Five minutes," I half-pleaded, half-commanded. "Then we'll come back out and you can feel free to talk with us until you're blue in the face."

I think because he was still surprised by my act of relative aggression, he raised his hands in mock surrender and said nothing. Pleased, I smiled in thanks and turned to join the boys, waiting at the door to my room. Ron sat heavily on my bed, while I stood next to Harry and backed the door shut softly.

"How are you, Hermione?" Harry asked as soon as it was closed.

"Oh, fine," I sighed, "Malfoy's driving me a bit crazy, but he's only _really_ bad when there is some sort of outward intrusion or perceived threat…which honestly worries me, because we have to go to work on Monday, but perhaps…" I trailed off at the serious look on Harry's face.

"I meant since the…assault, actually."

"Oh," I said, going a bit pink. "It's…I'm working on it. Quite okay, most of the time."

Harry looked at me as though he was a bit unconvinced, but I was actually telling the truth.

"Well, I wouldn't say no to hearing about how you're doing with Malfoy," Ron said grumpily from the bed. I smiled inwardly for a moment at two things: first that I felt he was showing rare self-control in not calling Malfoy a name, and second, how our friendship had gone back to normal enough that he could come into my room, plop down on my bed, and not have it be the least bit awkward.

"Honestly, Ron," I said in the tone I usually took with him, "he's been fine."

"It's weird, you spending all this time with him. After all the things he's said about you, done to you—and Harry and I, come to that—it feels like it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong."

"I thought in the hospital you came to some sort of agreement?" I asked, looking between the two. Harry looked as though he wished to remain unaffiliated, but Ron looked defiant.  
>"Well, you were in the hospital, I was worried," he said dismissively. "I had bigger fish to fry, as they say. Six years is a long bloody time to forget about!"<p>

"Well, I'll have you know, he actually apologized for calling me Mudblood," I told him much to his consternation, "and he couldn't hurt me if he wanted to."

"Well anyway," Harry began, his tone indicating that he had news to share. Ron, however, felt that the subject had not been amply discussed.

"'ang on," he said thoughtfully. "That's not what you told us."

"What?" I asked, exasperation fully evident in my voice.

"You said he wouldn't let anyone else hurt you, you didn't say he couldn't do it himself."

I paused, considering this statement. It was true that Madame Derwent hadn't said anything about Malfoy being _unable _to hurt me. I wanted to continue thinking on this particular facet of the Phenomenon, but definitely didn't want to give Ron any qualms on the subject.

"Well, he'd have quite a fight with himself if he did," I said, trying not to laugh at the image. Ron looked like he might want to pursue the matter still further, but I'd had it.

"Let's not talk about Malfoy all evening, I'd much rather hear about you two!" I said earnestly. "Though if we're going to keep him from barging in here, we should probably go back out."

We did, and though Ron gave a surreptitiously dark glance at Malfoy's cot as we passed, he didn't say another word on the matter and was moderately polite. The three of us sat and talked for a few hours, while Malfoy watched. There were no rows or curses, though, so I considered it a pretty successful evening, and something I dearly needed. It was only after they left that I realized we never heard the news Harry had tried to share in my bedroom.

So, Sunday evening came quietly, at the end of a quick week. I had been aching to ask Malfoy more about work and the agency all week, specifically about what I would be doing, but had held off. I didn't, though, to spare him from annoyance and spare myself from ridicule. He had no reservations, I discovered in that first week, about scoffing and calling me a know-it-all, or making fun of my desire to have a full knowledge of any subject I may come across.

At six o'clock, however, we had cleaned up dinner (we went shopping earlier in the week and I had been making simple meals for both of us) and I could no longer stand knowing nothing about the next day.

I cleared my throat, and he looked up at me from one of my books. "Malfoy?" I asked tentatively.

"Granger?" he responded, mimicking my tone.

"Can we talk about tomorrow?"

He just smirked at me, and spoke with an incredulous tone. "I can't believe you made it all the way through the week. I've been waiting for this since Monday."

**XXXXXX**

The week off was nicer than I expected, aside from the torture that was our Phenomenon testing. I agreed that it had to be done, but it was always brutal for me. Otherwise, we went about our lives, or rather, Granger's life, in relative ease, running errands and reading a _lot_. On Monday morning, she insisted we go to Flourish & Blotts and stock up on books about Magical Private Investigating, despite my insistence that even _I _didn't know so much about the business. Ever since, she's been tearing through the _twelve _books at record speed, but I knew she was dying to ask about my particular agency, and what she would be doing.

Not much else happened that week, and I was thoroughly shocked how harmoniously I could live with Gryffindor Granger and her head of hair—it was as if we were almost friends, because (though we barked at each other here and there) both of us were doing our best to keep the agreement about patience and understanding with regards to the bond. We did have another small fight when her waste-of-space neighbor came back over to "return her ex-pension cord" and tried to put the moves on her again. I told him, very simply, that Granger was busy and didn't need to be bothered. He left fairly quickly, the little sod.

She yelled a bit, afterwards, about how she wasn't going to have any friends left if I kept on that way, how John was just being friendly, and other bullshit, but there was simply no way I would endanger her by letting that arse sniff around her like she was open for business. I tried explaining this to her, but apparently it didn't come across as I'd meant it. She yelled for a bit about that, too.

I suppose in the interest of complete honesty, she did fairly well over the course of the week, considering there were times I got angry and she managed to keep calm. I called her some names and insulted some of her friends, and she just shook her head at me and returned to what she was doing…even if that was curling up next to me so I could sleep after a Phenomenon test. And she'd only had two dreams involving the attack, as far as she told me.

The most surprising part of the week, in my eyes, was when Potter and Weasley came over. _That_ wasn't surprising, as I'd had an inkling that they'd show up sooner or later, but when Weasley oh-so-subtly indicated he wanted to talk without me present, Granger said yes and then whirled around and grabbed ahold of me before I could protest, or say anything at all for that matter.

I hadn't seen her act that way since she slapped me third year and it surprised me, but more than that, she somehow looked attractive again. It shocked the hell out of me; so much so that I had no argument against a Golden Trio pow-wow in her room. I spent those few minutes alone trying to reason through it, but came up with nothing.

_It could be the Phenomenon, but why would it be if she just looked stronger than ever? Doesn't it affect me only when she's vulnerable?_

The incident festered in my mind for days afterwards; I was still thinking about it when Granger asked about work on Sunday, but was determined to find a cause and most importantly, to never tell Granger.

Sunday night, then, came with her request to discuss work, and, as I believed she had shown remarkable self-control thus far, I decided that I would humor her.

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"Can we talk about tomorrow?"

"I can't believe you made it all the way through the week. I've been waiting for this since Monday."

"I figured that if you were a regular employer, I wouldn't have the opportunity to batter you with questions, and I should resist. _But,_ I also wouldn't go into any job with no information besides a starting day, so…" she paused as she unfolded a piece of parchment that I had assumed was a bookmark, but now proved to be a list.

"Granger, you made a _list_?" I asked, disbelievingly. "Merlin, you're insufferable."

Her eyes flashed. "_Don't_ call me that," she snapped. I had a feeling her sensitivity to that particular word had something to do with a particular potions master. She focused on the paper.

"Okay…what time do we have to be there? …What will I be doing? I should say we, actually, because I assume we'll be doing the same thing… How many other people work there? …Will we be investigating, or do you think we should stay at the office? Should I call you Mr. Malfoy?"

I stifled an exasperated sigh. "Eight thirty, I don't know, seven, probably both, and definitely yes."

"Malfoy, be serious!" Her arms were now folded as she looked at me desperately. Was she…nervous?

I laughed. "I'm being completely serious, Granger!"

"Will you at least please tell me what I'll be doing? What _we'll _be doing?"

"Honestly. I don't really know yet. I haven't been in touch over the last week. I'll probably see what needs to be done, and then we'll get to work. We were short on cases last I checked, anyway. We may just need to sit around and make money."

"Well who runs the place when you're gone?" she asked, as though considering asking someone else for an assignment.

"Dewhurst."

"Malfoy–"

"_Mister_ Malfoy."

"Shut up!" she said shrilly. "_Please_ give me more than 'Dewhurst!'

I chuckled again. I really didn't mean to keep laughing at her, but she was taking this so _seriously_. It was comical, being that she already had the job, and she would be with me literally the entire time.

"He's just my second in command, Granger. Quentin Dewhurst, in his thirties, he's worked there for longer than I have. He's always in charge when I'm not there. He's a good worker, I'm sure he'll have a report for me about what's happened in the last week, and from that, I'll decide what you—and I—will be doing."

"Does he—does anybody—know I'm coming?" she asked, and chewed the inside of her cheek.

"They knew I was looking to hire someone, so I suppose they know it's a _possibility_ that I have, but no, they don't know that you specifically are coming." I paused in consideration, and then continued. "It's not as if you've much to be nervous about there, though, is it? Has anyone failed to fawn all over at meeting you," I injected a healthy dose of sarcasm into my voice and continued, "_THE _Hermione Granger, in the last two years?"

"They do not _fawn_," she huffed. "People are very nice, usually, yes. But for the first…two or three years in the magical world…a lot of people didn't like me at first, so I suppose that left its mark." She said the last part quickly.

"I suspect it was the hair-teeth combination, which you slowly fixed over the years."

"Shut _up_, Malfoy," she said, growing (not at all playfully) angry, paying no attention to the fact that I'd paid her a (rather backhanded) compliment.

"Oh, calm down. I'm sure they'll all be more than willing to bask in your Golden glory," I retorted, a little miffed at the idea of my employees mooning over Granger instead of doing their jobs. It wasn't that I was overly worried about them hurting her—I knew them all fairly well and knew they could be trusted—it was just the idea that anyone should pay too much attention to _anyone_ when they should be working that irritated me…and perhaps a little bitterness at the reverence with which the Trio were treated almost anywhere in the magical world.

"Are you worried?" she asked, switching gears at once in that unique way of hers, becoming analytical and inquisitive.

"Only the normal amount," I answered, analyzing my feelings of anxiety yet again. It was something I'd gotten better at than a normal bloke should. "It's familiar territory, so…it's not as worrying as that trip to the market."

"You mean the one when you to tried to set that tree on fire when the branch scratched me?" she asked dryly.

"I only vaguely remember," I said, sounding unconcerned.

In truth, that trip had been hellish. In my mind, every step was a danger, there was a predator lurking in every aisle. I _was_ much less anxious about work, and while there were a few things weighing on my mind, I knew my familiarity with the environment would better equip me to protect Granger as well as control my Phenomenon-driven urges.

We went back to our relative books, and I looked up at her at my usual intervals. At around ten in the evening, she stiffened visibly on her sofa cushion and placed her arm around her abdomen.

"Are you alright?" I asked quickly.

I believe it still surprised her when I noticed these things, because she looked up slightly taken aback, and said, "Oh, yes. I just got a bit nervous." I continued to look at her questioningly.

"I read something about Dementors," she explained, nodding at her tome. "I—I wasn't thinking I'd have to face any, I've never been a hundred percent in my Patronus."

"Well, you won't, mostly because they've barely been seen since the war, but also because I'd never put you in that situation."

She smiled a bit at the corners of her mouth.

"And your stomach?" I asked, fixing my gaze on the arm that still held her midsection.

"I get nauseous when I'm nervous," she said absently.

I couldn't have that.

"I think you should put that book away," I said, rising to take it from her. "_And_ I think we should both get some sleep." She took her arm from around herself and clasped the book with both hands.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she said, holding the book like it was a bloody lifeline.

"You know plenty, Granger. Believe me."

"I should just at least review this chapter on tracking techniques—"

"Don't make me carry you," I said in a low voice. I meant it, too, and the part of me influenced by the bond would absolutely delight in it.

"You wouldn't," she said, but sounded unconvinced.

"You know I would," I said, holding out my hand for the book. She seemed to size me up for a moment before deciding that I was indeed serious, and she handed me the book, muttering something under her breath.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing."

"Very believable."

I tossed the book onto the coffee table and helped her up. "You're certain you're not sick?" I asked, still bothered by a kernel of anxiety about her stomach.

"I'm fine," she said, staring pointedly my arm that had lingered around her back even after she stood.

"Sorry," I said, removing it. I wondered casually if she hated every time I touched her, or if she'd learn to tolerate or ignore some of it. Honestly, some of the time (this instance included), I didn't even realize I was doing it. It was 100% magically-induced instinct—which is an oxymoron in every situation but ours.

We fell into the usual routine of nighttime, with a few grumblings from Granger about how it was too early to go to bed, but I maintained that she needed it. Nerves weren't good for sleep. After she said goodnight, I lowered myself onto my cot, expecting to find sleep immediately, but I lay in bed awake for quite a while, unsure of exactly what was troubling me.

**XXXXXX**

I woke much earlier than I needed to, with exam-day jitters dancing throughout my midsection. I lay in bed for nearly thirty minutes, thinking over all the things I'd read about in the past week and mulling over different investigative strategies before rising at seven to make breakfast for Malfoy and me.

I made oatmeal, and the smell roused Malfoy, but I couldn't eat or drink much of anything. I stirred it around, my mind very much occupied elsewhere. Malfoy, however, had paid much greater attention to my eating habits since I had fainted, and coaxed and wheedled until I'd eaten at least a few bites.

He, on the other hand, was very chipper. I supposed that even though the week off had been his idea, he was eager to get out of my house and back to work. I was eager as well, but I had the added bonus of the need to make a good first impression. He tried to make conversation several times, and I obliged him, but certainly didn't put in much effort to keep it flowing, preferring to close my eyes and repeat spells and laws to myself. He was dogged, however, talking about both things that related to the MPI and things that didn't.

Eventually, we were both dressed and at the front door, ready to leave, at twenty after eight.

"Mind if I do the apparating?" he asked, looking at me in his usual, slightly concerned way.

"No, I don't," I said, and gripped his upper arm, preparing to be squeezed through space. I fought off the side-along-induced inability to breathe, and after a moment, opened my eyes, standing with Malfoy just down the street from the MPI.

Malfoy began talking again as we walked toward the building, chattier than he'd been in the entire time he'd been staying with me.

"A few months ago, Granger, we had a case that would have really interested you; a man came to us certain that his father had lied to him about—"

But what the man thought his father had done would remain a mystery to me, because at that moment, we turned up the walk and I found myself staring straight at the spot where I was assaulted 10 days previously. I stopped short; I felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. Somehow, for all my planning, I hadn't anticipated this moment, hadn't recognized the fact that working with Malfoy would undoubtedly bring me to this spot sooner than I'd have liked to confront it.

My mind was simultaneously filled with every thought I could possibly have and no thoughts at all, creating a deafening buzzing and ringing, and I still felt completely unable to draw breath. It was a strange sort of quiet panic that I was powerless against.

A tiny corner of my brain recognized that I was moving, and realized that Malfoy was guiding me up the walk with one firm hand on my lower back and one hand gently on my shoulder. I thought he might have been saying something, but it was impossible to pick up, I had to focus on breathing and standing.

My feet must have moved with him, because eventually I found myself in the building's small but ornate lobby. Malfoy lead me to a chair, presumably used in case clients had to wait, and then stood in front of me, his face lowered to be on level with mine.

We stayed this way for a minute. I was beginning to come out of whatever strange mental state I had become lost in, and I focused in on his face.

"Breathe," he said. "You're alright, everything's fine." I numbly began to inhale and exhale deeply. I didn't feel remotely close to tears; just very strangely dazed.

"Here." He handed me a glass of water he must have conjured. I took a small sip, but he looked at me sternly, so I took two more big gulps and handed the glass back to him. He was still standing in front of me, but his eyes began to examine my whole face.

"How're you doing?" he tested. "Say something."

"Fine," I said. I didn't feel _anything_, so I supposed that was accurate enough, and I couldn't think of another word in any case. If Ron had been there, he would have said that it was a real first.

"Do we need to go home?" That seemed to pierce the shell around my brain, and I realized that Malfoy had the ability and power to make me go home, which I certainly did not want.

"No," I shook my head firmly. "Definitely no."

"Are you sure?" he asked, feeling my forehead.

"Yes. I'll be fine, it was just…a shock." I watched him as he attempted to determine my health through my brow. "I didn't think about it. Passing it. I don't know how I could have forgotten, or—" I trailed off, as a large question blossomed in my thawing brain. "Why aren't you freaking out right now?" I asked him abruptly.

He seemed to have decided I was fine, stood, and moved from in front of me to sit in the chair just next to mine. He sighed as he put his arm around the back of my chair, but stared straight ahead.

"I've been planning for this since I said you could have the job." He sounded weary—making me believe that this moment really had been on his mind for over a week.

"You knew this would happen?"

"I didn't know _what_ would happen, but I thought something might."

"Why didn't you warn me?" I asked, slightly miffed. "I could have been preparing, or—" I was interrupted by the memory of how talkative Malfoy had been for most of the morning. "You were trying to distract me," I said, turning to look at him, seeking confirmation.

He nodded. "I was hoping we could walk right past. Foolish, obviously, but I thought it'd be best to try."

I swallowed hard; I no longer felt numb—I was rather choked up that Malfoy could be so…attentive, in a non-protective way. He'd prepared _very_ far in advance to make sure he himself was calm upon passing the spot, and must have attempted to predict my reaction as well, because he reacted concernedly, but not so much so that I was annoyed. Sometimes kindness, when unexpected, makes me more emotional than cruelty, which I can manage. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard.

"Thanks," I said, as sincerely as I could, finding that my voice was a little hoarse.

Malfoy's arm slipped, probably unconsciously, from the back of the chair to perched around my shoulders. If there was ever a time I didn't mind, it was now. I smiled at him, and he actually returned it in a small way. It wasn't a smirk or sneer, it was a genuine, albeit closed-mouth, smile. I figured he must have been more worried than he was letting on.

I took a deep breath and briefly scrubbed at my face, and then checked my watch.

"Merlin, it's 8:40! Aren't we late? Where is everyone?"

"Oh, well…we usually start at nine, actually; I just wanted to get here early, to have enough time…if it was necessary."

I smiled again at his consideration. It truly shocked me, because I knew it likely wasn't caused the Phenomenon, which didn't prompt him to plan ahead, only react—it seemed that this was actually Malfoy. I thought about this for a moment longer, and then came fully back to myself.

"Well we shouldn't just sit here and wait for everyone to arrive, what will they think?" I asked, and jumped up.

His trademark smirk returned to his face in a hurry. "Nothing good."

**XXXXXX**

I rose to stand next to Granger, then gestured to the stairs. My office (and hers) was on the second floor. There was a small adjoining room that had previously gone unused, but I'd had furnished in the week off, so that Granger could technically have her own office, but one that was easy for me to access and keep an careful eye on. It was important, in this business, to be able to have private conversations, and our sharing an office would not be conducive to that. I showed her the space, and she beamed, but tried intensely to hide it and remain professional. The traces of adorable from her earlier vulnerability lingered around her, and I had to hurriedly stifle the tug I felt to smile at her excitement. I reminded myself how irritating, how sycophantic, and how very _Gryffindor_ it was of her to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and it seemed to do the trick.

So, when she was set up in her office, I gave her a backlog of information to go through to catch up on an (easy) case I would train her with. She read furiously, and soon the rest of the employees filed in as nine came and went. I assembled them all in my office to introduce them to Granger, and gestured her out of her new office.

"Everyone," I said, in my best distracted-boss voice, "we have a new hire. This is Hermione Granger…" a few eyes widened and a couple of glances were exchanged, but I continued, "…and that is her office. I trust no one's work will be affected by such a minor event."

"Granger," I said next, turning to address her, "this is Daniel Baker, Josephine Leatherby, Petra Allen, Lester Wight, Susanne Shelsher, Donald Murray, and Quentin Dewhurst." I pointed down the line at each name.

"Anything on your end?" I asked her, hoping she would keep it brief; I was eager to return to normalcy.

"Um…hello, everyone, I'm…" her voice started off slightly higher than usual, but returned to normal quickly, "…very pleased to be working with all of you," she said, smiling and doing an awkward wave-type movement with both hands.

"Alright, you can all get acquainted some other time. Dewhurst, stay here for a moment, the rest of you can get back to your work, assuming you have any." They all turned and headed for the doors to their respective or shared offices, and I nodded at Granger to indicate that she should return to hers as well, which she did quickly, returning to her file.

As the rest of the employees filed out and closed my door, I heard someone say, "_The_ Hermione Granger's working here now? She could work anywhere, couldn't she?" I also heard Murray's thick Scottish brogue come back with, "And didn't they hate one another at school?"

"Piece of shite thin walls," I muttered, and said more clearly to Dewhurst, who stood in front of me, "You'd think a _private_ investigation firm would have better insulation, wouldn't you?"

"Ah, they don't mean anythin' by it," he smiled easily. "She's still good and famous, innshe?" (I had owled a few days before, informing him of my return and Granger's hiring).

"So it would seem," I said with an eye-roll, before getting down to business. "Everything going smoothly?"

"Aye, everyone's on a case but Lester, and he has so much paperwork backed up that he's well-occupied anyway."

"And your assignment?" I asked, casting a quick glance to make sure Granger was absorbed in her reading.

"I found a _few _leads, but nothing too hot," he said, looking me straight in the eye. I trusted this meant that he had done his best work, and nodded.

"The file?"

"Sent to your home as requested," he said. Dewhurst _was_ always quite good at confidentiality and following orders.

"Excellent," I said, satisfied. "You can head to your office now Quentin."

"Yes sir," he said dutifully, exiting quickly.

I took the few strides to Granger's small office, hoping she was almost finished.

"How're you coming in here, Granger?" Her head was still bowed, scanning the last few lines on a page notes.

"Well, I think…did already you solve this case?"

"Baker did, yes."

She looked up at me. "The brother-in-law cursed the bicycle, correct?"

I was pleased. "Very good. He did indeed."

She tilted her head, and asked again, "You don't give Baker the good cases, do you?"

I laughed. "Not really, no. He's newest here, besides you."

She changed gears. "Do you think…do you think I did okay before, in front of everyone?"

"Yes, those two seconds were absolutely magnificent. I expect the Minister will be inquiring after your speechmaking soon."

"Malfoy, you—" she began, flustered.

"Ah ah ah," I tutted. "This is work, Granger. I believe we agreed on _Mr. _Malfoy."

She glared. "_Mr._ Malfoy," she started again, words dripping with irony and disdain, "you put me on the spot just then, so I was only wondering whether I sounded like a complete idiot or not."

"In that case, no."

"Thank you," she said, with an air that suggested she thought I was making things difficult on purpose…which of course, I was. Perhaps I should have been attempting to set her at ease, given what I was about to tell her, but sometimes, being me meant that I couldn't pass up an opportunity to jab at someone else.

"Listen," I said, leaning up against her door-jam with crossed arms as she watched and listened from behind her tiny desk. "I have a bit of bad news, I'm afraid."

She raised her eyebrows, and when I didn't continue immediately, she asked, "Well, what is it?" in a harsh tone.

_Give a girl an office, and they think they run the damn world._

"We have to swing by the Manor, I'm afraid. A confidential file was sent there…accidentally," I said, tacking on the one-word lie. On a whim, I had decided it would be better to tell her the basics, but keep the whole truth to myself.

Her hair seemed to deflate with…disappointment? Fear? I fought the urge to comfort her, attempting to stay the Phenomenon's affects in the workplace.

"Can't um…can't you have a house elf bring it?" I couldn't believe she had just asked that.

"Oh ho! Look how quickly you abandon your beliefs when you run across an unpleasant task!"

"No," she said fervently, "look how badly I do _NOT_ want to 'swing by the Manor'!"

"Sorry, but I don't trust a house elf with this information…and we have a policy about clients' information being handled only by employees, as well." _Even if that client happens to be me._

She laid her head back against her chair in what I can only assume was a state of dread. Deciding that _that_ was no good, I closed the door quickly put one hand on her desk, leaning over it to be closer to her.

"Look, Granger." She did nothing. "Look at me, please." Obediently (having only to do with the fact that this was work-related and I was her boss, I'm sure), she met my eyes. "It will be _fine, _I promise. I'll be there, we'll go straight to my room and get the file and leave; nothing and no one will stand in our way, alright?"

"Okay," she said, steeling herself. I knew she'd be uneasy, but the sooner she realized the Manor wasn't dangerous to her, the better. And I did really need the information I'd had Dewhurst round up as quickly as possible.

"Shall we, then?" I asked, inclining my head to her door.

"Now?"

"Now."

**XXXXXX**

Logically I knew that Malfoy wouldn't let anything hurt me (if he could help it), but I still felt as if hot snakes were writhing in my stomach at the thought of dropping by the Malfoy Manor. For the second time that day, I did not at all mind the tight grip Malfoy kept on me as we used the back exit and apparated together to the Manor gate. I had a great sensation of déjà vu, and I wished desperately that I would be apparating to my parents' house instead of following Malfoy inside, but I fixed my brow determinedly into a brave expression.

_Get a grip, Hermione. You can do this—it's only a house. And you _have_ to do this, because it's your job now._

With employment on the line, I seemed to grow a little braver, and kept stride with Malfoy as he did a complicated wand flick to allow us to pass through the wrought iron as if it were air. The foreboding house loomed in the distance, and I pictured myself looming up as well, ready to handle the worst it had. I'd survived Bellatrix's knife at my throat, I reminded myself—the Malfoys could do their worst, and I'd be just fine, thank you very much.

Malfoy attempted to put his arm around my shoulders, but I shook my head.

"I'm okay," I said steadily.

He looked at me, but we didn't break step. "Good," he said, slightly surprised. When we were within 100 meters, he dodged off sharply onto a path that I didn't see. I began following him, instead of walking alongside him, as we traversed a narrow, winding path that lead through the garden. It _was_ rather beautiful, though unnecessarily gloomy.

Eventually, Malfoy lead us to one side of the great house, where he picked up a stone from the ground and traced a simple outline of a serpent, unnoticeable to anyone not looking for it, against the stone wall. It produced a glowing red outline of a door that Malfoy then pushed open slowly. I was shocked that any normal person could have such a house and such an entryway, but the Malfoys were a rather ancient, and rather evil, family, I supposed, so it must have served its purposes over the years.

I followed him up a very narrow, dark, winding staircase. It was dark and dank, but I appreciated the lengths he was going to in order to put me more at ease, when he could have simply walked through the front door. I muttered _"Incendio" _as we passed a candelabra hanging off the wall. Malfoy chuckled ahead of me—he may not have needed light to know this passage, but I felt much more at ease with a glimmer of it.

When we'd climbed two or three floors, the staircase came to an end at a simple wooden door. He tapped the doorknob with his wand and it clicked loudly, then eased it open quite slowly, pausing each time it started to creak.

Finally, I whispered, "Certainly your parents won't be listening at your door?"

Malfoy turned to face me. "No, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if someone or something told them I was here. Loyal servants, you know."

I made a noise of dissent in my throat, but didn't have time to dwell on the matter, as Malfoy finally had the door open. We emerged into a large, open room, and as soon as I closed the door behind me, a tapestry dropped from the ceiling, concealing it completely. I turned around to take in the room, and was immediately struck by its sheer size. It was practically the size of my entire house. It was lavishly ornate, with dark green and gold furnishings.

"This is your _room_?" I whispered incredulously.

"Suite, actually," he whispered back nonchalantly, pointing to a door on the right. "That's the bathroom." Without even looking, I was sure it enormous. As Malfoy looked around for where the file might be, I took in the room further. A great mass of bed took up much of the space to my left…it was easily big enough to fit three people (a strange and amusing thought had to be brushed aside here), and had a canopy and hangings to boot. Malfoy was rifling through a gilded desk in the far corner, and two leather chairs stood in another, next to his own mostly-filled bookshelf.

I stood there, mouth slightly agape, taking in the grandeur, when I noticed he was packing a few things into a bag.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"As long as we're here, I might as well grab a few things I've been wanting," he whispered over his shoulder.

"But…we're at work, and that's a personal errand," I said automatically.

He actually stopped, turned, and looked at me with eyebrows raised. "Yes," he said sardonically, "I _do_ hope I don't fire me."

"Oh, just hurry up," I whisper-snapped back.

As he kept packing, I continued to gaze. "I just can't believe you _live_ here," I said, still amazed. I'd seen parts of the Manor, yes, but under dire circumstances, and the fact that this was somebody's _bedroom _was almost unfathomable.

He paused again. "Yes, it is rather splendid, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, sweeping his own eyes around the room.

He seemed to consider something, and then whispered hesitantly, "Granger…you don't think we could stay _here _occasionally, do y–"

"_No_," I cut him off quietly.

He ran a hand through his hair. "But it's so much _bigger,_" he continued at a murmur, "and I'd make sure no one bothered you…"

"This is exactly why I didn't want to come here," I hissed, gesturing around. "Because I knew you'd do this, and I'll be damned if I give up _my_ life because something bad happened to me!"

"_Your_ life! What have you given up? Because last time I checked, I'm the one who now lives with _you_!" He stepped closer to me, no doubt trying to intimidate me with his height.

We were now having a full-fledged whisper fight in Malfoy's bedroom. If I wasn't so angry, I might have laughed.

"I've given up seeing my friends, my _comfort_, and a _lot_ of my time and space! I didn't ask for this to happen, for God's sake! I was almost raped and the next thing I know, I have a man I barely knew living in my house! None of that was in my control!"

"Oh, so I should have just left you there, is that it? Never mind the scarring you'd have had, because you'd be so much better off without _me _in your precious house?"

I was now absolutely furious. "How _dare_ you say that to me?" I still wasn't shouting, but I was no longer whispering either. "You KNOW how grateful I am, but if I had to come live here, at the bloody Malfoy Manor, that would make everything that much worse!"

We were now less than a foot apart. He growled in a low voice, "I just don't see why _I_ am the one who has to make all these sacrifices, why you can't meet me halfway on this! Stay here every now and again!"

"Because at the end of the day," I started, not caring if I said something I'd regret later (which I was indeed about to do), when Malfoy clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Shut up, Granger," he said, returning to an urgent whisper.

I was still seeing red, and attempted to wrench his hand away from my mouth and give him more of my mind.

"_Granger_. Be. Quiet. I think someone's coming." I suddenly became deathly still, holding my breath. I too, heard what definitely sounded like footsteps in a near part of the house. Malfoy grabbed the bag he'd been packing with the hand that had been over my mouth, and grabbed my hand with his other and pulled me toward the tapestry-hidden door. He peeled it back, flung open the door, and pushed both of us inside.

We did not, however, rush down the stairs, which would have made a great deal of noise. He pressed me into a corner against the wall on the small landing with his entire body, and we both listened, breathing heavily but quietly against each other, as the tapestry clattered back into place.

I looked up at him as he looked toward the door, pondering the fact that we could be at each other's throats, but still his instinct told him to shield me in this way, with his entire body. He smelled of sweat, but also vaguely like leather and aftershave.

I stopped considering all of this, however, when I heard footsteps clack closer and the door to his bedroom door open. I was afraid that whoever it was would make a beeline for the door we were currently standing behind, but realized that if Malfoy was still hiding us here, whoever it was probably didn't know of this door's existence.

The stringy voice of Narcissa Malfoy filled the room. "Hello?" A pause. "Draco?"

_She must not have been informed by anyone of us being here; she must have thought she heard something from wherever she was._ We stayed still and quiet until we heard the door close a minute later, presumably as his mother felt that she had imagined something.

I finally allowed myself to breathe normally, and Malfoy looked at me for the first time since we reentered the staircase. He had a hint of wistfulness in his eyes, I thought, as though he'd have very much liked to see his mother, but it was gone quickly. It was dark, but I could tell that our faces were even closer together now than when we'd been fighting. After an elongated moment, he sprung backwards, unpinning me from the wall.

"Sorry," he muttered—something he seemed to be doing more and more since he'd come to stay with me, I couldn't help but notice.

"Did you get everything?" I whispered.

"Yes. The file's in here too," he said, raising the black bag slightly.

"Does she really not know this staircase is here?" I asked inquisitively, and Malfoy shook his head as he pulled out his wand and lit it.

As soon as the light cast a beam through the darkness, I saw his eyes widen in horror. I instinctively looked behind me, but there was nothing but the wall.

"_Fuck_," he breathed, reaching out a hand toward my face.

"What?" I asked in alarm. He could clearly see something that I could neither see nor feel.

"Your mouth…when I…my hand," he said unintelligibly as he used the hand that wasn't holding his wand to touch my face lightly with the back of his fingers. He seemed like he was in a daze.

_Oh._ Something clicked in my mind, and I asked softly, "Is there a mark from your hand?" My face didn't hurt where he'd forcibly silenced me, but it was possible that it was slightly red. I swallowed as he didn't answer, wondering if I'd get my answer to the issue Ron had raised in my room on Friday evening. I knew, however, that I didn't really want it.

As he continued to stare at the lower half of my face in a mixture of concern and anger and disgust, I slowly raised my hand and closed it around his wrist, then brought it down from my face.

"Malfoy," I said slowly and patiently, "You were helping, remember? Your mother would have found us if you hadn't done that." He met my eyes, and then shook his head violently, as if throwing off a trance.

"I didn't hurt you?" he asked in a dazed voice.

"No, you didn't. It doesn't hurt at all," I assured him. We looked at each other for a moment, and I felt it was safe to slowly release his wrist. It seemed to want to jump back up to my face, which was much better than the Wormtail situation I'd been picturing. He brushed over the area once more with his fingertips, and then lowered it.

"You're fine," he said in his normal voice, to reassure himself more than me.

"Absolutely," I said, smiling the tiniest bit at his complete change of demeanor from one moment to the next.

**XXXXXX**

Fucking hell, seeing my hand's mark on Granger's face did something to me. I was dangerously close to throwing up, and even hearing her reassurances that she wasn't hurt, I couldn't think of anything to do but stare at and/or touch her mouth until it was better. I just hadn't thought when I'd slammed my hand over her mouth, I'd only reacted to sounds I'd heard—another mental thing the bond had me doing, as I was in no way afraid of my family or anything in my house, but I knew Granger was.

And I'd been fine, too, standing there listening to my mother talk to my empty bedroom, not feeling at all out of sorts, until she left and I became suddenly aware that it was strange the way my whole body was held against Granger's, and that I should most certainly move immediately, for Merlin knew how uncomfortable she was.

And then the hand, my hand, on her face, it was just so completely wrong that I was dizzy.

"You're fine," I told myself, relieved that my voice had returned to normal at least, but still unable to believe that Granger was okay. She turned to go down the stairs, but I was afraid to move—somehow, I was actually too upset to move.

She looked up at me, and sighed. "Oh, come here."

She wrapped her arms around me, an uninhibited of an embrace as we'd had. I folded my arms around her instinctually, and just let myself feel her breathing against me as I tried to match it.

When she finally pushed away, she looked up at me and simply asked, "Okay?"

"I think so," I said, finally feeling like myself again.

"I'm not mad," she said, referring to our fight.

"Nor am I," I replied, as I'd known all along that Granger shouldn't have to stay at the Manor. I'd only experienced momentary weakness brought out by all the familiar comforts of home.

"Okay then," she said, and lit her wand to match mine before she started down my personal staircase. I took the lead when we reached the bottom and we needed to wind through the garden once more without being detected. Once we reached the apparition point, we made it back to our offices with no further complications. The rest of the day ticked by in a dull blur; I read through Lester's paperwork without caring much at all, and made excuses to venture into Granger's office every hour or so to be able to touch her so I wouldn't go mad, as well as check that the red mark was fading, which it did by the time we left the office. She was in fine spirits, but as we arrived on her doorstep, she turned to me and said with a smile,

"Let's make tomorrow a boring day at the office, yeah?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow...it's been a long time, hasn't it? I know that even offering excuses at this point would be ridiculous, so I'm just gonna give you the chapter. I'll try to have the next one up by Christmas...because I pretty much know where the next one is going, I think. I hope some of you are still with me!**

**So, now, nothing remains, dear reader, but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affections, and hope that no reproach on the subject of lateness will cross your lips once you've read the chapter.**

The next day was September 1st, and as usual, I felt pangs of nostalgia all day, wishing that I could be fourteen again, and sitting in the last compartment of the Hogwarts Express with Harry and Ron. Still, I had plenty on my plate, what with my second day at work, Malfoy, and the bond to control; I didn't have a lot of time to dwell.

At work that day, Malfoy gave me my first real case.

"Infidelity: the PI's bread and butter," he said, waltzing into my tiny office with a nearly empty case file and smirk.

"Mine?" I asked excitedly, standing.

"Don't drool, Granger, it's only a bird who thinks her husband's cheating," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Where is she? Shouldn't _I _have met with her?" I asked skeptically, wondering if Malfoy was "protecting" me right out of optimum performance.

"Normally, yes, but she came in yesterday when we were…at the Manor. Dewhurst saved it for you, thought it'd be a nice introduction."

"Well, hand it over!" I said impatiently, grabbing it from him. He mimed pain, insinuating I'd given him a papercut, but I rolled my eyes and opened the file to read the solitary piece of parchment enclosed.

"Gone more than usual…unresponsive…suspicious parchment in the fire…ragged appearance…seems standard," I said, taking in the information quickly.

"First step?" Malfoy quizzed.

"Head to Diagon Alley, check with his employer," I responded mechanically.

"Good," he said, nodding and holding the door for me. "The official story is that I'm supervising your first assignment," he added.

"Don't you want a jacket?" I heard as I was almost out the door. I looked back at him.

"No? It's nice out."

"Right. Let's go, then," he said, pushing me lightly out the door and flushing slightly. I fought the urge to smirk at him.

We exited the building and I spun us on the spot; we reappeared in the archway of Diagon Alley. It was fairly empty, being a weekday morning, but several people still made their way through the streets with purpose. I walked determinedly to the Apothecary with Malfoy trailing a half-step behind, probably attempting to maintain the guise that he was only supervising, rather than accompanying protectively. I was on the trail, incredibly excited about piecing together the puzzle—even if it was only a simple infidelity suspicion.

A small bell tinkled as we entered the shop, and a middle-aged man stood from crouching behind the counter. Malfoy put his hand on my waist, but I shot him a stern, ceasing glance over my shoulder. He would have to do without, I indicated, and he peeled away from my side to pretend to browse, and presumably watch me very closely.

"Can I help you?" the man asked disinterestedly as I approached the counter.

"Yes, can you tell me," I asked, "do you have a Philip Bransford working here?"

He eyed me. "You his wife? You look familiar…" he said, tilting his head. I heard Malfoy sigh from the shelves behind me.

"No, just…and old friend," I said. "Is he here?"

"Quit," he grunted. "About three weeks ago."

"Oh, he did? I- I haven't spoken with him in a while, do you know why he left, or…" I trailed off, afraid that Malfoy might notice my nerves.

The shopkeeper continued to eye me suspiciously, but eventually responded with, "He claimed he found a different job, one that paid better. Sounded a bit dodgy to me, he said it was in Knockturn Alley, but wouldn't say exactly where," he finished, shrugging.

"Alright," I said, feeling a bit crestfallen, but glad to have some information I looked around quickly, but didn't see anything in the shop that could have suggested pertinent information on my subject. Bransford obviously hadn't told his wife he was leaving his job weeks ago, _a big red flag for something wrong in the marriage_, I thought, exploring the possibilities in my mind. "Thank you very much," I told the shopkeeper, and Malfoy appeared at my side, ready to leave.

I had turned toward the door when I heard, "Wait a minute!" excitedly from behind me. I turned back around to face him.

"You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" he asked excitedly, apparently having finally placed me. _Bugger._

I was torn: I didn't want to admit my identity, as it was my first case as a Private Investigator, but he seemed so enthusiastically certain that he likely wouldn't have believed me if I'd denied it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy cross his arms amusedly.

"Um, yes, that's…yes, I am," I stammered out.

"I've read all the _Prophet _articles of course," he said eagerly (referring to the eventual publication of many of the details of Harry, Ron, and my Horcrux search etc. in the _Daily Prophet_ in the months and years following, including several forcibly obtained biographies), "and I've always thought you were so clever, I mean, the way you always chose the location and cast the protection spells," he gushed. It was always strange meeting people who considered me some sort of celebrity. That particular detail had been divulged by Ron, in the interview we all gave before we realized that the _Prophet_ spun the public interest in our lives far out of control, stopped giving interviews, and the reporters had to begin using secondary sources.

"Well, thank you," I said, attempting to sound pleased, while really feeling slightly irked at the realization that this job may require me to disguise myself a lot more if I was going to be recognized all the time.

"I think I have one in the back, if you wouldn't mind signing?" he asked hopefully. Aside from the fact that signing autographs is something I generally not do, it would be incredibly bad form to leave a trail from my investigation on my very first case.

"Oh, that's nice, but I really must be going actually…it was nice to meet you though, and thanks for your help with Philip, I'm sure I'll find him eventually," I said hurriedly, and turned to find Malfoy had inched closer to me throughout the conversation, but was wearing a very amused expression and seemed to be containing a fit of laughter. I pushed past him toward the door, but grabbed his arm as I went, pulling him out of the shop in frustration.

"Right, well not much there, but at least we know he's been lying to his wife for some weeks." I tried to continue in a nonchalant work voice, but Malfoy began sniggering halfway through my analysis.

"Granger," he said, wiping his eyes mirthfully, "I had no idea I was hiring such a celebrity."

I punched him hard in the rib area, tossed my hair in what I hoped was a dignified manner, and continued to dissect the conversation out loud.

"As I was saying, he's been lying to his wife, which obviously means something…so if we took a quick pass through Knockturn—" I tried to rush over the words, but predictably, Malfoy had something to add.

"We will do no such thing," he said firmly.

"Malfoy, this is my _job_ now," I said, half-pleading with him in the street. "What could possibly happen?"

"Someone. Could. Hurt. You." He said with a fierce and increasingly familiar snarl, while shepherding me against a shop wall.

I backed up into the brick, but held his gaze. "For goodness sake, Malfoy, you will be there the _entire _time! I'm fully confident in your ability to _protect_ me," I cajoled with disdain, "and may I remind you that, so far in my life, I've faced an acromantula, a basilisk, angry centaurs, a giant, _and_ several Death Eaters—including torture at the hands of your dear friends and relatives—so one would _think_ I'd be able to handle a stroll down Knockturn Alley in middle of a Tuesday morning."

The intensity of his gaze faltered, but still he replied, "It's dangerous."

"It won't be!" I said, meaning it as a promise to stay safe.

He rubbed his forehead. "_Why_ did I agree to let you have this job?" he asked apprehensively.

"You didn't really have a choice," I reminded him with a small smile. "But speaking of that, since this is our workplace at the moment I'd love if you did what you can to limit your physical protective gestures."

"I can make no promise about that," he replied, shaking his head. "We're about to head into Knockturn Alley."

I beamed in victory, and turned to head to the less reputable part of Wizarding London. He quickly took his place at my side. He wasn't touching me, so I wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. Instead, I was forming theories and plans about Philip Bransford's whereabouts and actions.

We soon found ourselves crossing into Knockturn Alley, and the bustling weekday atmosphere of Diagon Alley faded into a nearly-deserted, somehow cloudier street with boarded windows and what felt like a shift in the air to something decidedly unfriendly. I kept my eyes peeled for Bransford, as well as shops that I felt he might be keen to frequent or work in, based on what I knew from his file.

**XXXXXX**

Granger was taking in all of her surroundings as we walked down the main street of Knockturn Alley; I was as well, but with a different eye. I had spent more time here than she, and I knew that even the interactions that appeared innocent could be anything but. I kept my head on a swivel, despite the fact that Granger was partially right: this was perhaps the least dangerous time to be in Knockturn. Still, I knew things about this place that she didn't; that she shouldn't, ever.

I was also doing my best to restrain my "physical protective gestures," something that I would only be able to do as long as nothing more sinister than glances came our way from those on the streets.

She shot me a sidelong glance that clearly indicated that she felt she was right, and that nothing malicious was happening. I, however, knew that we were only five minutes in, and that there was abundant time for catastrophe.

Granger stopped suddenly in front of a shop that was not boarded up, but the light coming through the front windows was a dusky purple. She peered in, tilting her head. As I was about to raise my head to find the name or a description of the establishment, someone whistled in our direction.

Immediately, I spun my head around and reached for my wand. The only man around was a fat man of about 40, looking tattered and possibly intoxicated. Before I had my wand out, Granger had grabbed my arm. She was still staring at the storefront. She looked slightly pale, but said in a low voice,

"A catcall is not a threat. Ignore it."

She was not the sort of woman who usually ventured into Knockturn Alley, and it was only a matter of time before someone took notice.

I tore my eyes from the man, wishing looks could kill. I then looked down at Granger, who appeared not at all bothered by the incident. I decided that if she was unshaken, it could be overlooked.

But the man persisted. "You better hold onto your girl, there, sonny!" the man slurred. "I'd love to take you home with me, darlin', if you get tired of blondie, there," he laughed.

Granger still didn't turn around, but tightened her grip on my arm and muttered, "Go away you idiot, if you know what's good for you." I didn't know if she was insinuating that the danger to this man would come from me or from her. I did know, however, that I was seething, and that if this man did not stop lusting after Granger immediately, he would soon look back fondly upon the part of his life when he possessed legs.

As soon as the next syllable left the man's mouth, my blood boiled.

"Baby, I would take you home, bend you over, and fuck you until—"

Granger released my arm and we whirled around simultaneously, but she had her wand out faster than I. No words came from her mouth, but a jet of red light issued from her wand and enormous boils quickly appeared on the man's face. He finally closed his mouth as his hands sprang to his face.

"Let's go," she said quietly, stashing her wand and turning to walk further down the street, but I was frozen, locked in a staring contest with the man. At his last words, my mind was flooded with sexually explicit images of the man and Granger: him forcing himself on her and taking advantage of her in a multitude of situations and positions. Disgust and anger ripped through my consciousness. How he could _dare_ to think of Granger in that way was beyond my comprehension. He had no idea what she'd been through, and he was carelessly…

Before I was fully aware what was happening, I had the man on the ground and was kneeling at his side, my wand jabbed more than an inch into his throat.

"Malfoy!" Granger's panicked voice came from somewhere behind and above me, but I had business to attend to.

"If you so much as _think_ anything like that about this woman again," I growled, "you can trust that I will find you, and I will have no problem killing you." I pressed my wand further into his chunky neck slowly. "Understand?"

"Malfoy!" her voice came again, and I faintly felt something as Granger was apparently attempting to tug me to my feet by my shoulders. I had enough adrenaline streaming through my veins that I doubt a werewolf could have pulled me off.

I waited; the man, boils and bloodshot eyes, finally nodded slowly.

Only then did I allow Granger's continued efforts to pull me up affect me, and I slowly rose.

"What the _hell_ are you thinking?" she shrieked as soon as I stood. She was shaking slightly. "You can't just threaten to kill people, Malfoy!"

My mind was still filled with dark clouds. "It was necessary," I said dismissively. Looking around, I saw that the few people who were in the streets following my confrontation with the offending man were scurrying from the scene. One positive about Knockturn Alley: you could trust people to keep their noses out of your business.

"Necessary!" she shrieked again. "_You_ frightened me more than he did! He's a relatively harmless drunk, whereas you are a completely sober wizard apparently capable of murder for a sexual remark!"

Perhaps normally I would have agreed with her, but I was still blinded with fury. "It isn't okay for him to say things like that to you, Granger," I replied, the raggedness in my voice startling even me.

"Of _course_ it isn't, but it was an empty statement, and I had the situation handled!" She opened her mouth to speak some more, but closed it suddenly and shook her head. I thought I heard her mutter, "What am I thinking of," but couldn't be sure, as she swiftly grabbed hold of my waist and apparated us to her doorstep.

Once inside, she released me and turned to face me dead on.

"We'll wait here until you calm down. That shouldn't have happened, especially not in a public place. Now I _know_ you know that, but you're unable to see it right now."

"I knew we shouldn't have gone," I said, defiantly yet softly.

She rolled her eyes. "If you go about life thinking that everything is dangerous, _you_ become the dangerous one."

"You don't know what he would have done," I said stubbornly.

"He would have done nothing, because he flat out _told _me what he would have liked to do. That's basically the least dangerous thing possible."

She let her breathing slow for a moment, but mine was still rapid. "I know this is the Phenomenon, and that it'll take a moment for you to think clearly again." She leaned her back against the nearest wall and crossed her arms, while I remained upright. My mind was still reeling.

Granger glared at the floor, then her watch, then the ceiling, then at several other items in her house, but very obviously avoided glaring my way.  
>I did just the opposite, and watched her fume in silence. I wouldn't apologize for <em>that<em>, I told myself. Not after what she'd only just been through—a man like the fucker in the street was a clear danger.

_How was she not more rattled?_ I thought back to her stoicism in Knockturn—she perhaps shook slightly, but her only other reaction was to advise me to ignore the comment.

_Is she used to this kind of thing?_ Beads of sweat formed once again on my forehead as I considered that possibility, and its many implications.

**XXXXXX**

I wouldn't look at him. I was so frustrated that I'd do something that I'd later regret to someone who was only halfway acting of his own accord. But just before he'd snapped, I was sure I'd been on the verge of a breakthrough.

The event was also rather distressing for my own reasons, if I'm being honest about my feelings. In a small capacity, the crude remarks, but mostly Malfoy's apparent willingness to kill for so little.

Lastly, this instance was all disappointingly familiar. Growing up with male best friends, I'd (unfortunately) grown accustomed to being around people who couldn't control their tempers in the face of harsh words.

But, as far as I'd thought the situation through before this, Malfoy had been the one producing the harsh words: sharp, well-planted barbs that could incite Harry and Ron to fighting with enough prodding—carefully done within the watchful eye of an authority figure, or course. He'd rarely, if ever, been expertly provoked himself.

So when I'd warned him to ignore the drunken man's words, I'd mostly expected him to listen.

A thought struck me: Had I become as important to him as his mother—who seemed to be the only reason he _would_ prove susceptible to the insults of others? Did the Phenomenon force him to hold me in such high esteem? Or was he simply once again unable to gauge real danger from an empty desire? And how could _that_ be, if the strange bond's purpose seemed to be my protection—or was it more? Was it more akin to protectiveness he felt, or affection? Or respect? Or friendship? Or something in the middle?

I put a pin in that train of thought, resolving to think on it later, as Malfoy and I had passed almost ten minutes without speaking—the duration of which Malfoy had passed by looking directly at me. I would have to face him (quite literally) eventually, and better sooner than later.

"Does that happen to you often?" he asked as soon as I met his gaze.

A short laugh escaped my lips, surprising myself. "Which part?" I asked, almost bitterly.

"The blatant sexual harassment, Granger. What else could I possibly mean?"

"I didn't know if you meant the thing with the shop owner," I said sheepishly, my cheeks warming slightly.

He did not laugh this time.

"N-no," I answered. "It has, once or-or twice, but not _often_," I finished, truly thankful that I was usually too plain a target for pigs.

Malfoy's eyes were still clouded.

"Malfoy, are you…are you alright? Nothing happened, I'm fine, and I understand why you were upset, but please try to also understand that I can handle myself in situations like these. You don't need to go…killing anybody."

**XXXXXX**

I knew she could handle herself in situations like those—in much worse, too, as she'd earlier pointed out (to a sharp pang of guilt in my stomach).

"I know, Granger, but may I again point out that this isn't exactly my fault, and that it's sometimes impossible to control."

"Is it, though?" she asked timidly. It was the softness of her face and voice that kept me from responding harshly.

"Yes. I became this…this prodded animal, and I simply…react."

"But…you've _never_ been like that! At Hogwarts, you were always so much more collected than Harry and Ron."

"It's not as if I like it, Granger, I like to fancy myself a more highly functioning being than an over-reactive animal.

"But…I suppose I don't understand exactly _what_ goes through your mind, and if there's any way for you to put your mental experience into words…"

I sighed, because it would be as simple as explaining a color, or putting hunger or thirst into precise words. Still, her pleading look was more persuasive than usual, due to the…usual affect her vulnerability had on my perception of her. Irritatingly so, because I'm not one to let a pretty witch get her way just because she's pretty.

"When it happens, something threatening, I…there's this…_heat_, which you've felt…this _heat _that I know, if I don't do something, will get worse. At the same time my mind is racing: both with what's already happened to you, and all the things that _could _happen to you."

As I explained the effect as best I could, she crept toward me, looking directly into my eyes…looking for what, Merlin knows, but it was very distracting. She seemed completely oblivious to my trailing off.

Her eyes were narrow and searching, as if attempting to decode an inscription written somewhere on my face.

**XXXXXX**

He didn't _look_ any different, I realized frustratingly. There was nothing in his eyes, or anywhere on his face, that separated him from the Malfoy I'd long known, except the absence of the disdain he once showed for me.

_But he was willing to __**kill**__for me!_

_But wasn't he always willing to do that?_ Another voice answered the first thought. _Maybe not for __**you**__, but he was willing to kill, wasn't he?_

_He __**said**__ he was, but was he really? He never actually did…_

_Well, he didn't today, either. Maybe he really wouldn't have._

"Granger?" Malfoy asked, pulling me out of my analysis of his behavior by way of his gray-blue eyes.

"You don't look any different!" I burst out in vexation.

"Pardon?" he replied.

"I just…I can't figure out how much of this is really _you._"

Surprisingly, he seemed to know what I meant.

"I don't either," he admitted, running his hands through his hair.

"Well, I hate not knowing things," I said, reminiscent of my 11-year-old self.

"I'm not typically fond of it myself," he said with a drawl. Then he became serious as he said, "but I've found that I don't especially care. It's hard to focus on the subject, anyway. I _feel_ like myself, if that sets you at ease, but with…a slightly different set of interests. And this other thing in my head. When I react like…well, like earlier, I'm myself, but….more so."

The thing in his head was his representation of the Phenomenon, the thing that made him protect and worry, from what I understood.

"That's interesting," I said, pondering. "Thanks for…putting that into words. I'd like to continue thinking on it."

"Knock yourself out," he said, disinterested. Perhaps the why and the wherefore weren't currently important to Malfoy…perhaps the Phenomenon rendered such thoughts as trivial compared to my protection.

Shaking my head slightly, I put the entire matter into yet another folder of my mental filing cabinet, and refocused my thoughts onto the task at hand.

"Are you alright now?"

"Are _you_?" he returned, closing the minimal distance between us as he took _his_ turn to study _me._

I nodded, then continued,

"Do you think we could go back to Knockturn Alley for a bit? I believe I was onto something…pertaining to the case."

**XXXXXX**

She wanted to go back. Of course she did. Because this was Granger, and nothing was ever simple.

She seemed to take my silence to be a "no," and continued on persuasively.

"I only want to examine that shop we were stopped near a little further, then I'd be very happy to return to the office with you."

I weighed the possibilities—she could be hurt, certainly, but she'd just as certainly make more trouble for me if I denied her (not altogether unreasonable) request.

I agreed, and her face split into a grin.

"Excellent."

We returned to Knockturn Alley with a pop, and flitted into the purple-lit shop (the drunk man was nowhere to be found). Granger asked a few simple questions, and as she'd promised, we'd returned to the office within an hour.

She retreated into her small office, and I made a quick rotation through the rest of the building to confirm that everything was in order, and returned to my own desk.

I spent the next few hours leafing through and scrutinizing the contents of the file we'd retrieved from the Manor—Granger's file. The file filled with the limited available information pertaining to her attack.

There had been no reports of any similar attacks in the magical world and, from what Dewhurst could find, nothing in the Muggle world to suggest anything more suspicious than a standard sexual assault.

(Of course, I entertained the possibility that attacks had simply gone unreported, like Granger's. I had never asked her to file with the Ministry's system of law enforcement—ironic, since she desired a position in that very institution. Perhaps it would be good for justice, but she hadn't brought up any desire to do so, and I couldn't bear to suggest it if it meant making Granger relive the attack in any way. She was doing quite well with putting the matter behind her.)

The attacking man had clearly spent time developing a new and incredibly dangerous spell to temporarily remove the magic from another's body, essentially rendering them powerless—as well as ensuring that no inherent magical powers will repel the rapist, as is common with sexual assault.

I stopped scanning the pages here for at least several minutes, fighting against thoughts and images of a powerless Granger…my blood boiled and my fists clenched.

It seemed incredibly unlikely that he would do such a complex thing as invent this spell for a random, one-time attack. This meant that either it was a targeted attack, and he could very possibly attempt to assault Granger again, or that the other victims' memories were simply modified after the fact.

I sat, fingers together, thinking about ways of obtaining information without asking Granger—I _wouldn't_ make her relive it—I'd catch him (and very possibly kill him) without her.

I snapped the file shut as I heard Granger's chair scrape backwards, and placed it in the trick drawer in my desk only visible to me.

As Granger padded into the room, I noticed that it was nearly time to close the office. I had apparently been lost in her case for several hours—the frequent need to stop from anger was more time consuming than I'd realized.

"I'll need to speak to the wife. The client," Granger said matter-of-factly, but with a hint of triumph.

"For further information?"

"No, to give _her_ information. He isn't being unfaithful. He has a gambling problem."

I was, in short, astonished. I was quite good at my job, and I still had no way to follow Granger's logic to her conclusion.

"That pawn shop, in Knockturn Alley," she explained. "It's a front for a gambling operation. He's a regular there. It's all in here," she said, handing me the file.

And indeed it was.

Remarkably detailed throughts and deductions were laid out neatly before me, encased in manila. She hadn't seen the husband there, but she knew. According to the file, she had seen a trinket in the shop that bore the same emblem on a piece of paper she once saw on Ludo Bagman about six years ago.

Unbelievable.

"Well, I…that's…" I stammered idiotically.

"Thank you," she said proudly (and perhaps with a note of smugness).

"Hang on, how do you know I was going to say something positive?" I said, standing. "Maybe I was about to tell you that this is shoddy at best and you're jumping to fairly distant conclusions!"

"You weren't, and I'm not," she said coolly.

"Unfortunately, you're right," I said, smiling in spite of myself. "I'll send for her immediately.

When the wife arrived, I let Granger share the findings, but kept a close eye on the proceedings from my office.

"Not boring," she said, "…but not all bad, right?"

I rolled my eyes at her optimism.

"I suppose that's fair," I said with a smirk.

**XXXXXX**

The rest of the week passed relatively uneventfully, as did the one after it. I saw very little of my friends of family, but mollified myself with the reminder that Malfoy saw absolutely none of his family or (presumed) friends.

I solved cases, he found excuses to explain his accompanying me to curious fellow employees.

I occupied myself in the evenings with piles of files of old cases, solved and abandoned. I was determined to know the business inside and out. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to occupy himself with one or two high-profile cases, pored over night after night.

In the few instances I wasn't looking over backlogs, I was trying to discern Malfoy's motives and feelings without his noticing, something proving maddeningly fruitless. I had almost no concept of the level of influence the Phenomenon had over his mind.

Still, we passed that time in peace, due to our ability to function in comfortable silence. Our spats occurred mostly at work, as within the walls of my home there was, for both of us, the feeling of safety (with the one exception of a visit from the persistent John), and neither of us cared to bring up the reason for our forced cohabitation unless absolutely necessary.

So, our coexistence, our antagonistic friendship, continued with relative ease.

As Saturday the 12th dawned, I was expecting a visit from Harry, Ron, and Ginny, as Harry had owled me earlier in the week and demanded a visit.

_Hermione, we all miss you and are desperate to see you again. I think Ginny might kidnap you before long. We're coming to see you Saturday. Owl back with the time that would be best for you (though Ron says if you say no, we're coming at 6 am)._

_Much love, see you soon. _

_Harry._

Though I was warmed upon receiving and reading the letter, I was dreading the idea of having to once again awkwardly incorporate Malfoy and his protective tendencies into time with my friends.

When I presented the inevitability to him, though he grumbled prolifically, he conceded an afternoon-into-evening visit, so long as it took place within the house, "so I don't have to withstand the scintillation at point-blank range."

So I rose early Saturday, incredibly eager in spite of Malfoy-related reservation, and took care in ensuring that the appearances of my house and myself were impeccably ready for visitors. When a knock came at the door at a quarter past 11, Malfoy rose from his seat to look through the front window.

Turning away, he snorted. "Interesting interpretation of 'afternoon,'" he said sardonically, returning to his chair and taking up once more the case file he'd been starting at every evening for more than a week.

I was undeterred, as I hurried to answer the door. My happiness at the prospect of spending most of the day with the three people I loved best was impervious to even the sharpest snark.

As soon as I flung it open, I was met with three shining faces and was quickly enveloped into a four-person hug.

**XXXXXX**

Once the four Gryffindors disentangled themselves from a lengthy embrace (which I watched surreptitiously) Granger welcomed them into her small dwelling, and a mouth-watering scent hit my nose.

Weasley held up a rather large container with a smirk.

"Mum sent us with pot roast," he addressed Granger. "She hasn't seen you in a while, and she reckons you're thin."

His sister added, "It's why we came early—we figured we'd eat it with you for lunch, so we can tell her you're good and thick." She winked.

"Smells great," Granger said with a laugh. She then looked over her shoulder at me.

"Would you like some?" she asked happily. In turning, she missed the quick, surprised glance between Potter and Weasley behind her. I, however, did not miss it, though I did dismiss it. Sharing was how Granger and I had lived out of necessity over the past weeks, and it had become quite regular.

"I would," I said with a small but grateful smile.

The four of them made their way to her kitchen table (which was expanded for the occasion, cramming the kitchen nearly completely) and Granger dished out servings to everyone, sending a plate whizzing magically my way.

"Don't spill," she called, and promptly forgot me as the four of them sat down to steaming plates and lively conversation.

I turned back to Granger's file, glancing to the kitchen every now and again to be sure that Granger was okay (and to make sure she remained ignorant of what I was examining). I had made absolutely no headway on the case, and had the information it contained all but memorized; that didn't stop me from staring at it almost every evening. If I could find him, and kill him, or at least catch him, and could show Granger and prove to myself that she was safe from him—it was possible that I could be away from her (it wasn't logical, but it seemed to make sense to me regardless—though the part about leaving Granger still felt impossible). Furthermore, I couldn't escape the feeling that a breakthrough was just out of my reach, a glimmering snitch I was chasing, a second too late.

Part of me wished I had a more complete testimony from Granger—the file included my recollections of the story she'd told in the hospital, sparsely detailed, and the shreds she'd told me or let slip since. Another part of me wanted nothing less than to ask her for it…or to listen to it.

I ignored the guests and they ignored me as I spun the wheels of my mind in circles of frustration. They had moved to Granger's room at some point, door open, I realized, as a raucous round of laughter burst into my thoughts, causing me to glance at my watch and realize that it had been several hours since my fork had scraped the last remnants of my lunch from the plate. I looked outside to see that the sun was well past its highest point, where I'd last noticed it, and was streaming from behind orange-tinged leaves.

I rose, closed the file, stretched, and stepped through the front room, past Granger's open door and into the kitchen.  
>"And I <em>told<em> George I didn't mind, but he still looks so guilty every time he asks…" the redhead's voice floated out, exasperated.

"He almost never asks me," her brother responded glumly.

I stared out the window over the sing as Granger and Potter offered the Weasleys encouragement and advice on their apparently reluctant brother.

They were strange, these people, with their genuine, unfettered conversation and their heavy level of involvement in one another's lives. It seemed utterly exhausting.

_Maybe all heavy involvement isn't exhausting,_ an annoying voice in my head piped in. _Maybe just the kind you're used to._

My self-reflection was cut across by Potter's voice, which had interrupted the lull in conversation.

"Hermione, your birthday's in a week." I turned my head to listen better; I hadn't known this.

"Yes Harry, I'm aware."

"Of course you are, Hermione, you're aware of everything. My point, however, was that you should come to the Weasleys."

"Mum wants a celebration, Hermione! Your 21st isn't nothing, you know," Weasel chimed in.

"We could all go, everyone would be there, it'd be lovely. They haven't seen you in ages," the other girl pleaded.

"You're all sweet, but I don't think so. There's no chance I could leave Malfoy for that long, and to ask him to come…it doesn't seem fair, he hasn't seen his friends at _all_."

"It's _your_ birthday, not his. He can see his friends on _his_ birthday…assuming, that is, that he was actually born, and not spawned from a cauldron…" I might have gone in and cursed Weasley, if a grunting sound shortly following hadn't suggested that Granger had hit him, to the snickering of Potter and his girlfriend.

"Are you even planning on seeing your parents?" Potter continued.

"Not unless Malfoy wants to meet them…and I think it may be best if he doesn't."

"_Hermione, _then come to the Burrow. It won't be horrible for him, and it's your birthday."

"It's very sweet of you, Harry, but I don't think I can."

I turned away (feeling the slightest twinge of guilt) and left the kitchen, sitting once again in my chair. I most certainly did _not_ want to visit the Burrow, or meet Granger's parents. But it was obvious that Granger wanted to, and the humanity in me knew that she shouldn't have to spend her whole birthday alone with her boss, who hadn't even known it was her birthday more than a week in advance. The important thing to consider, though, was her safety.

**XXXXXX**

My three best friends had spent nearly 8 hours with me and I could not have imagined a better day. Unfortunately, they had to leave eventually.

I led the three of them to the door, and we said our goodbyes. Malfoy was watching as carefully as ever from his chair.

"Hermione, you should come to the Burrow next Saturday," Harry said abruptly.

I glared at him: he knew exactly what he was doing, bringing this up in front of Malfoy. He didn't falter under my angry stare, and returned it with an defiantly innocent look\

"I suppose we'll see," I said with gritted teeth.

"Hermione, he's not giving up on this one," Ginny smiled. "You know how he gets when he fixates."

I did indeed. I suddenly thought of his "Malfoy is a Death Eater" theory that had become his obsession in sixth year—though in fairness, that had turned out to be rather true. The skin on the back of my neck prickled at that reminder. I stopped myself from turning round to look, but I wondered if the Dark Mark would be visible on Malfoy's arm, were it uncovered.

_Draco Malfoy used to want me dead._

It wasn't as though I hadn't remembered Malfoy's past until this moment, I certainly had. It was the first time since…Malfoy had moved in, however, that I specifically thought of the way that Malfoy had wanted me dead on blood status alone, and a lot more so on his personal hatred for me.

I did my best to shake off the thought, but I had apparently been frozen in thought for a few seconds too many.

"Hermione?" Ron asked carefully. I snapped my head in his direction.

"Sorry, I'm fine," I said. A shadow closed in from behind, and I jumped.

"Granger…"

It was just Malfoy. I turned in _his_ direction, his expression more concerned than Ron's.

"Sorry, lost in thought," I said to everyone, smiling.

"We're used to it," Ron said dryly. Harry and Ginny laughed, but Malfoy remained immediately behind me, silent.

I felt intensely awkward, an unfortunate change from the previous part of the day.

"Well," I said, swallowing, "I'll talk to you all later. Thanks for today—er, thanks for coming today, I mean…."

"See you next Saturday, then?" Harry asked maddeningly.

"_Bye,_ Harry," I said pointedly before kissing the boys on the cheek, and hugging Ginny.

After our short goodbye, I closed the door and turned toward Malfoy, twisting my hands inside each other.

He looked taller, somehow, his face unreadable, and I suppressed the urge to go straight into my room and shut the door.

And Merlin, he was looking at me for such a long time, it seemed, that I may have trembled slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally. Had his voice gotten deeper?

"Nothing," I said softly. I was being silly—of course Malfoy wouldn't hurt me now, I knew that…but he _had_ before, hasn't he? For sport, even? This was such a strange moment, such a complete twist on our confrontation and my realizations from the day of my first case.

"You're lying," he said, cocking his head. "You're afraid."

How did he know that?

"No I'm not," I said, like a child.

"Granger, I know you are, so forget about denying it." He took a step toward me, looking concerned. And I held my ground, fighting my desire to take a step back. We were now less than two feet apart. "What happened, did you think about…the attack?" He finished the question with a terse grimace.

"No," I said, willing my mind to come up with an alternate explanation as to what had actually rattled me, but for once, it was blank.

"Did something happen with Potter and company?" He placed his hand on my upper arm (probably unconsciously). I remained perfectly still.

"No," I whispered, suddenly unable to break contact with his pale eyes.

_Hermione, stop it!_ I screamed at myself in my head. _He _saved _you, remember? Forget about the past!_ Aside from wanting to avoid the conversation, I didn't like the idea of what Malfoy would do if he'd known that _he_ was what had frightened me, even if it was his past self that had offended.

Before, when he had frightened me doing what he believed was necessary to keep me safe, would likely be different than frightening me because he used to…

My newly incredibly unhelpful brain reminded me, abruptly, of running haphazardly through a forest in the middle of the night under a glittering skull, years ago, and coming across a scarily calm Malfoy. 'Granger, they're after Muggles…do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair?….it'd give us all a laugh.'

For obvious reasons, that particular insult from Malfoy—one I hadn't thought of in years—took on new meaning.

Unable to help myself, I wrenched my arm out of his hand.

**XXXXXX**

Granger had begun acting strangely when she was saying goodbye to the Gryffindor Gang, and was only becoming more inscrutable. She refused to admit even that she _was _upset, let alone tell me why, and it was frustrating, especially given the increasing candor we'd been sharing.

She defiantly held my gaze, but didn't say a word. Without warning, she pulled her arm out of my grip.

This was troubling, to say the least. Was she having some sort of flashback? Why wouldn't she tell me about it?

"I'm sorry, I need—" she began, but seemed to lose the rest of the sentence in her throat. She cleared it, and then croaked, "a minute." She turned around and took heaving breaths, apparently trying to calm herself.

"Can I…do something?" I asked, after a few moments. I felt entirely too helpless. She seemed to be shaking slightly, and that realization felt like a white-hot knife to the gut.

She turned. "Do you still have it?" I was at a loss as to what she meant, and then I noticed her stare fixed on my left forearm.

I almost vomited.

"It's faint, but…yes, it's there," I said, hollowly.

Something reminded her of my Death Eater days…I didn't know what, and I wasn't sure I wanted to, but it was me causing her this anxiety I was witnessing.

_But she already knew!_ I thought, perplexed. _It wasn't a surprise!_ I seemed to want to defend myself. I tried my best to think what it was that was affecting her so strongly—frustrated all the more by the thought that Granger would have figured it out by now, if she were me…her PI skills were already sharper than mine.

"Granger, I…" I wanted to touch her so badly, to reassure her that I was no longer the awful little shit I was once, but I was afraid I'd scare her further. Instead, I said,

"Please tell me."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said evenly, nodding.

She ducked her head and stared at the floor. "I was just thinking about…the time when at, er, well after the world cup, when…" she took a deep breath and bean speaking very fast. "Whenwewereintheforestafterth edarkmark."

I remembered the encounter, but I couldn't remember exactly what I'd said or done—but obviously Granger could, because she was Granger. _Fuck._

I had to ask. "What did I…I mean, what exactly about that particular memory is bothering you now?"

Suddenly, her demeanor changed. She shook her head violently, hair swinging everywhere, and smiled. _Odd girl._

"It doesn't matter," she said, still smiling. "I was being ridiculous, you wouldn't hurt me now and you clearly don't feel the same way about what constitutes a good laugh."

She appeared to have shaken off whatever was bothering her—leaving me to once again marvel at the strange enigma that was Granger—particularly, in this instance her strength.

After this cryptic change of heart, I was quite surprised to have her quickly close the distance between us and wrap her arms around me. I blew her hair out of my face and wrapped my arms around her in return, feeling my insides sing.

"I'm sorry," she muttered into my shoulder.

"Don't be," I said, placing my hand on the back of her head. "I'm sorry for whatever it was that I-" I started, but she shook her head violently against me in the middle of it, so I trailed off.

_Granger just hugged me without my asking. She _wanted_ to do that. _

I couldn't tell exactly what it was about it that had made me so buoyant, but I stayed still in that moment, trying to retain it for as long as possible. Whatever I might have said to Granger six years ago was completely gone from my mind. She finally began to back away, and I felt slightly hollow. I busied myself with trying to pretend she wasn't incredibly attractive in that moment—her cheeks pink and eyes wide but lips twisted in a bashful smile.

_Fucking Phenomenon is doing this to you, Draco, it isn't you,_ I reminded myself loudly in my mind.

"I should…" she cleared her throat, and pointed to somewhere behind me.

I felt undeniable pride that Granger had been rendered speechless by our encounter, but as she tried to walk past me, I didn't want to let her leave that way.

"Wait," I said suddenly, and with no thought on the matter.

"Yes?"

"Next week, your birthday? You, that is, we…we can go. To the Weasleys'." I finished my completely inelegant interjection with a shrug.

She looked at me like she was wary of a practical joke. "…What?"

"I know I'm playing into Potter's hands here, because that's what his obvious hints were aiming at, but…it's still your birthday, Granger, we can go."

"Really?" she asked, as if she was afraid to believe me.

I smirked, but nodded.

She promptly jumped at me again, initiating another hug.

"Besides...I can always burn that outfit when we get home," I said, feeling the need to inject my usual snark into this somewhat overly-saccharine moment.

She pulled back, unsmiling, and flicked my cheek, but then leaned forward into my collarbone again.

I smirked, moved Granger's hair out of my face, and tried to pretend that this second hug wasn't the reason I'd agreed to go all along.

**Hope that wasn't too sugary for you...please review! Even just a smiley/frowny face would be appreciated! **


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